Clockwork Hearts
by petitehero
Summary: Director Fury enlists a new Avenger to repay him for saving her from a malicious group that has been taking civilians and converting them into machines of war. This is a testament to her struggles with herself and the team, a chronicle as they bring out the best and worst in each other. Things will shatter and all hell will break loose, but maybe something beautfil will be forged.
1. Hello My Name Is

**A/N: Okay! So hey there everyone (: This is my first Avengers fic, please bear with me if I struggle I bit with characterizations, and if you've got some constructive criticism to help me out with that, that'd be fabulous ! This first chapter's pretty long, but I needed to fit in a lot of background. The rest will be at a more manageable pace, and all of the Avengers will have much greater roles in the coming chapters. Unfortunately, I own no one and nothing but Miss Saintclair and her story itself. **

I walked down the halls of SHIELD headquarters feeling ambivalent. I didn't necessarily want to be here, but the Director had done enough to me that I felt I owed him as much to join his team. He was entirely supportive of that sentiment.

I pushed my aviators up on my face, tugged the single glove I wore on my left hand. Despite it being made of the most durable fabric available, its delicate weight worried me. It made me feel like every secret I'd ever kept and every horror I'd ever lived was flimsy and see-through.

"Lane." I turned to meet the distant stare of Nick Fury, the culprit himself. Under the cold recognition in his gaze, I felt the seed of pity and empathy.

This was another thing I did not want.

"Fury." I acknowledged, tilting my head in greeting. I stopped walking until he met up with me in the grey hallway. I wouldn't have him catching up to me. Nick Fury is not one to 'catch up' to people. He's one to lead, to command, to administer like a drug.

"Avengers. Assemble in the central board room in five." He spoke aloud, addressing his earpiece.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" I asked, my tone uncoloured. I wouldn't admit I wanted an easy out.

"Absolutely." He measured me again with his eyes and I wondered what he saw in me. "Are you ready to go through with this? I don't want this to turn into a soap opera because I plugged you in too soon."

"I'll cope." I said shortly. We continued in silence until we reached the room. I let him enter ahead of me, by the space of a few seconds. I wouldn't be trailing at his flank. I didn't owe him that.

Already the Avengers were settled in around the table in the center of the room, each one relaxed in various poses and points of conversation. There they were: Iron Man, Captain America, the Hulk, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Thor. I'd read all the files Fury had sent to me on them. They were something impressive, but they were something else entirely, too. It unnerved me to be in a room with certified heroes, given my own gateway into this vaguely supernatural life.

All eyes turned to Fury as he walked in. It was magnetic, automatic. And then their sights flowed off of him and onto me, the stranger in their midst. I felt them analyze, hypothesize. I knew nothing they came up with would be any sort of perfect fit with who I was and what brought me there.

"Lady and gentlemen." He addressed them with a voice made of iron, the rumble of the head lion in the den. "Today I'd like to introduce Lane Saintclair to you. She will be joining the operation here at SHIELD."

The atmosphere in the room shifted perceptibly. I knew the Avengers hadn't been together for long enough to become a family, but they had been through enough to become a clan. I felt like an outsider peeking in. But I brushed it off, because that feeling was settled under my skin since long before I'd run into Fury between bullets and bloodshed.

"Well, then. What's your story, gorgeous?" Iron Man asked. Underneath the metal and lacquer, I knew that man was Tony Stark, head of Stark enterprises. The cocky, philanthropist genius.

I slid a convoluted glance towards Fury, knowing full well he'd understand every censoring thing I meant to convey even though my glasses shielded his view.

"Tell them." He said simply. "About the operation."

I leveled him with a scathing look. Then I slid off my aviators in a fluid motion, pocketing them. So they could see the fragile scar slicing through my right eye. I removed my glove with the flick of a wrist, pocketing that as well.

"My name is Lane Saintclair." I began, flexing the metal hand. It was compact, not even a molecule more than an organic one would have been. I brushed aside my feathered hair, proving the part was as versatile and delicate as a real hand. "Three years ago, I was stolen and involved in a slash-and-sew bionic operation by an underground faction called the Apocalypse Project. As far as I know, there were four other girls who were put into my subdivision of the project." I swallowed imperceptibly, not wanting any of them to know the depth behind what I knew of what had become of some of those girls, and the uncertain futures of the rest. I was one of those uncertain girls. "They strapped us down and…applied…these prosthetics without any anesthesia."

A deeper hush filled the room, as if space and stars had grown inside their lungs rather than oxygen. Only Fury's face remained impassionate. He'd heard this story many times before. The others' faces held a gambit of disturbed expressions, from Black Widow's drawn eyebrows to Iron Man's rigid face.

"The pain caused me to pass out before too long." I said in way of trying to calm their horrified revulsion. "That was for the better. Part of the training, anyhoo. It made the next six months easier. It makes now easier. I have…a very developed sense of pain tolerance. This hand, though. I don't know the technical terms for it. I wasn't qualified for this life in any manner. I'm a mediocre field doctor, but I was studying to be a doctor of the arts. As best as I can describe it, it just…manipulates its molecules. I haven't found its limits yet. Primarily, it's designed as a weapon." I spanned my fingers. There wasn't an on or off switch to the thing. It was a part of me. And whatever primal thought process that connected to my brain knew to change. I willed it into three extendable claws, stroking them with my one good hand.

The others maintained a silent composure, but I knew that everything I spoke of and showed them was out of their comfort zone and waters, by many miles and a thousand degrees.

I flicked my wrist and my hand became just a metallic mockery of life once more. "Along with that, the Project installed a management program connecting the hand and a warranty in my skull. We've tried every remote or exterior technology available, even experimental kinds, to remove it, but there's no way to safely operate on it. It's been integrated with my spine." This part was easy. Factual information. I dealt well in facts and data. I could pretend it was impersonal.

"I don't know the extent of the Apocalypse Project or their aims. I know I was built to be a kind of supersoldier, and my personal objective was much like that of a berserker, but with more intelligence and longevity." I paused. "I can regenerate. They wanted me alive for the next level of the project, I think. But." I gestured to the Director with an ambiguous expression. "Somehow SHIELD caught wind of the types of things going on in the Project, and were able to infiltrate it. They only managed to extract me and a few other…experiments. They found me when I was in the process of being upgraded." I pointed to my scarred eye without inflection.

"Obviously I'm too much of a question mark to integrate back into normal society enough to go back to school and do with myself what I will. The Director offered me a position on this team as I had few places left to go. I hope neither of us chose wrong."

I settled back into the silence. After a beat, Fury took over. "Saintclair's been deprogramming for the past year. She's reached the point where I feel confident in having her integrate with the team and putting her at the disposal of the public. She comes with a few warning labels, however. I don't expect to put her into direct combat until she knows all of you to some minimal extent. I won't have strangers fighting alongside strangers. When this team started, that was enough of a mess as it was. I also don't expect this to be an issue with any of you in particular or collectively, but you need to know her handicap in battle."

I swallowed a little hard, then. There's nothing good or enjoyable about admitting your weaknesses.

"There's a spot on the back of my head." I turned sideways just long enough to point it out, a place about dead center where my spine and skull connect. "Don't hit me there. Don't let me get hit there."

"Because…" Fury prompted.

I sent Fury another ugly look. "Not even you can force trust."

"No. But I can force knowledge. You tell them or I will, Saintclair. I'm not gonna have you walking around with a handicap like that like a pansy little breeze will push you over the edge."

I gritted my teeth. "It's the place the programming is. All I know is if it endures x amount of trauma, there's a high chance the back-up security systems in the program will initiate. And you'll have a killing machine on your hands, which seems a little counterintuitive to this team's goal, so let's try not to let that happen."

I took a deep breath. "You can call me Agent Saintclair or Arcade—that's the name I'll be going by to the public."

"Arcade?" Iron Man asked. It seemed he was the one that had the strongest tongue. Unnerved as he seemed by my history, he bounced back pretty quickly. Maybe I wouldn't hate him as much as I thought I would. "Does that have something to do with your abilities?"

"No. It's because my life's been a game for somebody else to play for a good long while now." I turned my attention back to the Director. "I'm done here. Come find me when you have something for me to work on." With that, I turned on my heel and in one motion put my glove back on and walked out of the room without glancing at any of the others.

I'd bared enough of my soul for one day. Besides, I had some interior decorating to do.

**Yay! Now we can get on to all the team drama and self discovery and pretty, happy things, and horribly not so much ones. :DD Let's go ~!**


	2. Vodka and Spies

It seemed everyone had a crash room at the SHIELD headquarters. After I'd left the meeting, I'd run into an agent in the hallway who offered to show me to the room that had been reserved for me.

"Y'know." He said a little nervously, looking at me out of the corners of his eyes. "Obviously I have a very limited knowledge of why and how you're here, but I suggest trying harder to get into the team. They all have their own little quirks and defects, but they're good people."

"Ah." I faced him full-on. "I was a little standoffish at the meeting, wasn't I?" I stated it more than asked, but added a halfsmile so he knew I wasn't angry at his boldness.

"Well. Let's just say you weren't exactly Miss America." He returned the smile, looking relieved that I hadn't been offended.

"No, I suppose I wasn't." I sighed. I don't know why it was far easier to talk to this anonymous agent than make any attempts to woo the others. Maybe it was because he didn't have a whole array of public interest and expectations tagged to him. "It's okay. They'll figure out I don't bite."

When we parted, I learned his name was Agent Grey. I resolved to make an effort on his behalf.

The room itself was fairly spacious, much bigger and involved than anything I'd had in the last half decade at least. Then again, I'd been living in dorms, cramped quarters in an underground facility, and then a specialized rehabilitation facility. It was weird to think this was all mine.

I didn't have much in the way of possessions, just what I'd collected during rehab, and even then, most of it was more in the way of online shopping than anything handpicked. What I did have, I hung up in the closet, nestled in the drawers, and littered across the desk. If I was completely honest with myself, the only things that mattered were the things SHIELD managed to retrieve from my college days. I had a few family heirlooms and a single album that had suffered water damage in storage.

What I had was what was left of my family, enough to fit in a cardboard box.

I lay on my bed for a few hours, just looking at made-up constellations in the ceiling, before there was a knock on the door.

"Come in." I called. I wondered which Avenger was chosen as my liaison, and if they had to play rock-paper-scissors for it.

"Hey." Black Widow.

"Hey."

"All of us decided to head out for a drink. Do you want to come?"

I sat up in bed, hugging my legs. _I really ought to go,_ I thought. They might never be a family or even a clan to me, but they'd be teammates, and that required more intimacy than just coworkers in this line of business.

"Sure. How are we getting there?"

"Well, we're splitting up into two cars. It'll be Bruce, Tony, and Thor, and Clint, Steve, and I. You can choose whichever car you'd like."

"I'll go with you, then. Do I have time to change?" I had a feeling I wouldn't fit in too well with my one-piece jumpsuit and arms.

"Of course. Come back for you in fifteen?"

"Sounds good."

I crossed to the closet—it still felt too soon to call things 'mine'—and picked through my clothes. It was ridiculous, but I felt like I was dressing up for the first day of high school. Like I needed to impress the team or forge a certain image for myself from the get-go. I ended up picking out a soft blue vintage dress and heels that took the look in a more She's Got a Gun direction than She's Got Blue Eyes direction. I left my hair as it was, strawberry blonde down to just below my shoulders. I touched up my make-up and slid my aviators into one of the dresser drawers. I put on a matching glove so the other wouldn't gain notice.

And I waited for this night to either be interesting or a complete wreck. Or maybe both.

When Agent Romanov came to get me, she appraised me.

"You look like a girl out of some other time. But it's trendy, you know."

I shrugged. "I always was some kind of old soul." She herself was wearing an outfit that hit all the 's' bases: sleek, sophisticated, sexy…it was like 'enigma' was woven into every thread. I think we approved of each other in those regards.

When we got to the car, Agent Barton was already in the driver's seat and Rogers was in the back. Since Agent Romanov was making her way to the front passenger seat, I took it as a cue to sit in the back with Rogers. He didn't say a word as I scooted in. Once we got going, it was Agent Barton who made the first attempt to spark conversation.

"So. You walked out on us a little abruptly at the meeting." His voice was kind, understated.

"I did. It didn't feel like an appropriate time to mingle given the type of information I had to disclose." I felt out of my element, and it didn't help that I was sitting next to Captain America. Out of all the Avengers, he, the Hulk, and Thor unnerved me the most. Primarily because they were the most…unnatural, on the team. Black Widow, Hawkeye, and Iron Man were all creations of skill, technology, and the human capacity. Rogers was literally a man from another time. The Hulk…I didn't know how to reconcile Bruce Banner's moderate demeanor with the great beast I'd seen on film. And Thor was not only from _out of this world, _he was rumoured to literally be a _god. _

And then there was me, who really had no room to talk.

"How about now?"

"What?"

"Is it okay if we're a little nosy? We are going to be working together for the forseeable future, after all."

"That's…fine. What exactly would you be wanting to know?"

He laughed. It was likable. "Well, I don't know, I didn't exactly prepare an interview. But I'm sure we'll all find something to ask before the night's over, and I wanted to test the waters to see how far I'd have to reign everyone in."

"I'm somewhere between an open book and Area 51. You'll figure it out." I let a trickle of warm humour into my voice. "Anything I should be ready for?"

"Well." Agent Romanov broke in. "Everyone in this car, we're fairly classy. We'll pry, but we won't be obnoxious about it. Bruce will probably misstep, but that's out of scientific curiosity more than anything else. Thor doesn't know any better, though he's learning. He doesn't have a very developed sense of 'When in Midgard' yet. And Tony's just unapologetically obnoxious."

I was starting to be very happy that alcohol would be involved.

**A/N Okeydoke, things are gonna really start to get feisty in the next few chapters. There will be fighting and merriment and if I had a plausible excuse to throw in a few narwhals, I would. But I don't. So you'll have to make do with brawls and supervillains instead (:**


	3. Drinking to Midgard

The bar they chose was already well on its way to being cramped to the brim before we came in. We slipped into the crowd easily enough. Since Rogers was the tallest, I tagged along behind him so he'd clear a path for me. The others had already claimed a table in the back, and we slid into the open seats. I wasn't particularly thrilled with being in such close quarters to people who were more legends than strangers and more strangers than acquaintances, but I sucked it up. Incidentally, I was squished between Banner and Rogers.

"What's everyone going to have?" Stark asked, almost slinking up from his seat with well-practiced swagger. "I'll get this round."

Everyone started calling out what they wanted, until finally it was down to Rogers and me.

"I'll have a Sam Adams." Rogers said.

"Always the patriot, Captain. And what about you, Miss Silent Film Star over there?" I refused to blush when Stark called me out on my silence. I had to keep my resolve as several of the team's gazes slid my way as well.

"Raspberry vodka." I wondered if that was out of the ordinary or something, since they gave me appraising looks. Stark looked mildly impressed.

"Well, then."

"What? I haven't had a proper drink in three years. I'm hardly going to throw back mimosas all night." My attempt at indignity must have come off as humour instead, because they laughed.

"I like you. Okay, then, GLaDOS, come help me carry drinks."

I raised an eyebrow. "That name better not stick. I'm more of an Optimus Prime, anyways." I turned to Rogers. "'Excuse me. Apparently my service is required." He moved obligingly and I joined Stark.

When we were well enough away from the others he turned back to look down at me.

"I know it's too soon now, but I'd like to have a conversation with you later about your operation."

I swallowed once, hard. Well, what had I expected? I'd been warned about how straightforward Stark was. About as blunt as iron. Go figure.

"And Bruce would love it, too, I'm sure. He's just too meek and socially conscientious to say anything. I, on the other hand, am perfectly okay with being a presumptuous prick." His smile had mischievous curves to it, like he was letting me in on a secret. It was a smile you have to be cautious around.

"Don't call it my operation, like I had anything to do with it. But, deal. Obviously not tonight. Tomorrow, then. We'll have a little science-y powwow. But you'll owe me."

"Really? And what would that be?"

"Anything I like." I started picking up drinks in my hand and passed half along to Stark.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I'm spoken for. My lady would hardly like it if I played sugar daddy for anyone else."

I rolled my eyes. "Information, Stark. I'd like information. I just don't know what kind yet."

We didn't talk again on our way back to the table. We passed out the drinks and for awhile the conversation consisted of things that only a table of heroes could talk about; Thor's discovery of the Xbox, Hawkeye's latest archery accomplishment—he'd sliced the stem of an apple in two that was resting on some poor agent's head hundreds of feet away—and Captain America found Katy Perry's song Firework to be "appropriately patriotic".

"So, he cornered you, didn't he?" At first, Banner's strong but muted voice surprised me. It was the first time he'd ever spoken to me, and it was like he'd shaken me out of a dream. His oddly mellow, cordial manner was an interesting match with his entirely self-assured smile.

"Who?"

"Tony. He's got a morbid fascination with what you went through."

"He implied you were notably curious as well." Actually, he outright stated, but I didn't know if Banner would feel like he'd been thrown under the bus.

"Well, I am, but not everyone can be as entirely shameless as he can, can they?"

"I suppose not." I liked him. He hardly seemed anything like the expectations in my head. He just seemed like a guy who'd pulled a short straw and yeah, his smile was a little worn, but at least it wasn't proclaiming rainbows and young love and screaming 'everything's fine'. "But at least his way gets things done fast. Us three are going to have a sit down tomorrow and talk about it. Academically." I qualified, my smile gaining a tiny bit of steel. I wanted it to be entirely clear that tomorrow would not be some kind of spiritual journey of friendship and facing the past. We were trying to _avoid _me having a complete and utter breakdown.

"Understood." And he did. It was there in his eyes. I knew we would have some kind of connection, then. Experiment to experiment.

One of us was going to say more, but then Agent Barton turned our way.

"So tell us something about yourself, Lane."

The conversation at the table didn't come to a stop, exactly, but everyone's attention was on me. I shifted uncomfortably.

"Um, can I buy a vowel? I don't know what to say."

"Family." Thor said abruptly. "Family is the root of all things. Tell us, Lady of the Saints, who are your family?"

I willed my eyes to remain dry and my voice to remain steady. I was not about to cry in the middle of a table of superheroes in the middle of a bar over such an innocent question. "I had a mother and a father, and two little brothers."

"Had?" Agent Romanov asked, eyebrows drawn.

"Are they not present in this world?" Thor asked, about as delicately as an Asgardian prince could.

"They're somewhere. Just not anywhere I'll reach them."

"Why is that so?"

"Because they buried me years ago, and I'm not willing to bring all of…_this…_into their lives." I gestured first at myself and then the table collectively. "I'd be lucky enough if they could handle the knowledge of what happened to me. But then to add all this SHIELD business on top of it? It's like praying for a disaster."

"So they don't even know you're alive?" Rogers asked with noticeable concern.

"What they know is that three years ago their daughter went missing, and then two years later her car was found at the bottom of a lake. She'd been racing a storm and didn't make it back to the dorms in time." I closed my eyes briefly. "It's a nicer story than the real one, so I'm okay with it."

"You must miss them unendurably." Rogers said.

"I think after all I've been through, I'd make a better ghost to them than a daughter." It sounded wrong and dark even to me, but it was true. _But I will not think of the blood I've spilled tonight. Tonight I will start becoming an Avenger. A hero. _

After a beat of silence, Agent Barton asked what I had been doing before this all started.

"Art school. I was going to become an illustrator and a commercial designer. One day I wanted to work my way up to gallery standards." I absently flexed my metal hand under the table. "I finished my degree while I was in rehab. I worked out of there for awhile, and put everything on hold when the Director offered me this position."

"Did he really offer it to you?" Stark asked. "Or were you voluntold?"

"Isn't it the same thing with him?" I smiled wanly. After that, we dissolved into smaller conversations, ones that didn't hold so much weight and emotion. Eventually I turned the focus on them, asking them about the things they'd seen and what they liked. Thor, for example, was a fan of cotton candy while Agent Romanov liked to buy antique books.

We did a couple of rounds. Not enough to get drunk, because we were all paranoid for one reason or another and trained too well to allow such a mundane thing as alcohol to make us vulnerable. But it was enough to make our blood flow a little warmer and our smiles to appear a little easier.

It was around midnight when Agent Barton asked Agent Romanov to dance and Thor and Stark went to see if the bartender would serve them in bigger glasses. That left me to sit idly between Rogers and Banner and I was just far gone enough to bypass the distance I liked to keep between me and others and feel just a bit adventurous.

"Okay." I said. "Which one of you is going to ask me to dance?"

Banner held both of his hands up, like I'd just waved a gun at him. "I'm out. I was born with two left feet, and they get all insecure when they see other people dancing like rhythm-savvy human beings."

I glanced at Rogers. "And then there was one."

"Uh, I'm not particularly partial to dancing either." He said.

"Oh, come on. You were born in the era of flappers and drive-ins and mischief. If that's not in your blood, then I don't know what is. Well, besides, y'know, supersoldier type things, but that doesn't help my case here."

I reached for his hand and he let me pull him up from his seat. Thor and Stark were just getting back to the table when we left.

"Sorry." I mouthed to Banner, thinking it was a shame to be stuck there amidst whatever shenanigans Stark could come up with. Banner, however, took it in good stride, giving an OK symbol and a look that reminded me he was used to this sort of thing by now.

"You sure you want to leave now?" Stark asked. "We're playing an Asgardian drinking game!"

Thor smiled brilliantly. "Well, one of us will be playing, and the other shall be trying valiantly."

"On second thought, Banner, I'm going to do you a favour and not leave you to the sharks on this one." I grabbed his hand in my one free hand. He put up a little resistance, but seemed resigned to his fate. "Try not to kill yourselves, 'kay?"

I led the boys to the floor, and together we formed a sort of dancing circle. The song was a kind of rock hybrid, nothing you'd play at a club but not conservative enough to play at a school dance, either. The men did standard man dances, but as time wore on it was obvious they'd both been fibbing about their abilities to dance.

"You two totally lied to me." I said as I spun away from Rogers and into Banner's arms then back again. "You know exactly what you're doing on the floor."

"Let's just say I'd rather keep it a hidden talent." Banner said humbly. They both had older styles of movement, Roger's leaning towards swing and Banner's towards something distinctly bluesy. But it was nice, all of it.

"You dance well, too." Banner commented after the next song.

"Thanks. My mum was always going through these phases, and cultural American dance was one of the few that stuck with her."

I caught Rogers looking at me a little oddly and I asked about it.

"You just look like someone from a different time."

"It's been said. You know what….you do, too." I smiled lightly over the put-on wonder in my voice.

He returned the smile, and that was nice, since he'd been fairly quiet the whole evening. He'd joined in with the other's banter and squabbles, but he seemed like the only one vaguely disinterested in me.

We continued for a few more songs, crossed Agents Barton and Romanov, and Romanov and I danced together for a little bit, to the amusement of the men. It was the first time I felt like maybe this really could become more than a job to me.

Then we had to swoop in and save Stark, who'd lost the drinking game. Horribly.

"We can't take you anywhere." Rogers prodded, exasperated but almost grudgingly fond. Fury had told me what wasn't in the files as well; how each Avenger related to one another. Rogers and Stark were the most…strained…teammates. But even that didn't stand in their way.

"Jarvis, I'd like a cup of tea." He mumbled, leaning on Roger's shoulder. "And a small Grecian island."

I ended up riding back with Barton, Romanov, and Banner, since we collectively decided it was Roger's duty as a fine posterchild of America to handle Stark. He glowered the whole way to the cars.

When I got back to my room, I collapsed. I didn't even want to think about what was in store for tomorrow.

**A/N Okeydoke, then ~! This chapter was longer than I thought it'd be owo Hm. But I think it was necessary. Coming soon, the Science Bros' chat and our first fight with the new Avengers :DD Feed the review yeti ? 3 \**


	4. Doctor, Doctor

**A/N Ohmai! These chapters keep ending up longer than I usually write. Nice surprise (: . So…SCIENCE BROS ACTIVATE ~! **

The next day I was woken up by Fury screaming in my ear.

"Saintclair. Saintclair. Saintclair!"

"Mmhhh." I mumbled irritably. "What do you want?"

"I want your ass down here at this meeting doing your _job._" He growled into the earpiece.

I groaned in exasperation and threw myself into a sitting position. "It's five a.m. ! What could there possibly be to talk about at five a.m. ?"

"Three minutes." He cut off the feed abruptly, leaving me to discover a whole train of creative ways to string curses together. I stripped off my striped pyjamas and threw on a close-fitting jumpsuit. My hair was a ruffled mess of bird feathers, so I shook it out and made it look intentional. With the speed of an Olympic runner being chased by a postmenstrual mama bear, I applied thick eyeliner to my top lids and some muted pink lipstick.

Fury would have hell to pay for summoning me before a panel of highly attractive men and possibly the most beautiful woman on the earth before seven o'clock.

When I got there, everyone seemed to be completely awake. Great. So this was a routine thing.

"Glad you could join us, Agent Saintclair." Fury said gruffly.

"I'm sure the pleasure's all mine." I responded. We exchanged a tense look. He didn't appreciate my sass and I didn't appreciate all the things I had to say yesterday. That aside, there was another tension between us I couldn't explain. Generally speaking, Fury wasn't exactly a come-hug-me-brother type of person. He wasn't…_tame. _But he'd visited me every so often in rehab and we had the mutual understanding of two people who have seen things they shouldn't at all the wrong places and times.

We were similarly haunted.

I took an open seat beside Banner and we exchanged small smiles.

"Now that everyone's here. We've heard whispers that there might be an attack planned in the city in the coming days. Resources point in the direction of new age crime, a rising syndicate of technological villains."

"Aren't all villains technological to some degree?" Rogers asked.

"Yes, but this alliance is strictly human-based. No mutants, no extraterrestrials. Purely engineering and bio-conversion. That's what sets them apart. Intel indicates there is no motive for monetary gain or any personal drive. It's a campaign for a second Genesis across the world."

"What does that mean?" Thor asked, eyebrows drawn and a confused, disapproving look forged on his face.

"It means they want to break down the human order and reengineer the human race." Fury scanned us with his piercing eye, speaking in a voice from the grave. "I'm not okay with that."

"…Do they have the potential to further their agenda?" Agent Barton asked after the silence in the room reached full pregnancy.

"They do." Fury said simply.

"Well, what can we do about it?" Stark asked, leaning back in his seat pensively. "It seems like we have little to nil to go on. How are we supposed to fight this?"

"Unfortunately, we're stuck on the defensive until they make their first move." The Director replied grudgingly. "We can't risk our operatives who are currently building the credentials to infiltrate the group. I just wanted you to start preparing yourselves, because if the battle's coming to us, it's coming hard."

"They're smarts, right?" Stark asked, now bent forward with his arms on the table, propping up his head. "Sure, they've got firepower and ingenuity, but do they have the skill to propagate any sort of respectable force, assuming the geniuses won't be the ones going to war themselves?"

"Sure they can." Fury said. "People like them engineered Saintclair after all."

My entire body became as stiff as the metal plating inside me. I fought the urge to look at everyone's reactions head-on, but out of my peripherals, I could tell they all looked a mixture of shocked and uncomfortable. _Way to single out and objectify me, Fury. _I wanted to do something with the cold anger in me. But maybe that was what he was testing. Always pushing and pulling, that man. He was never content to let things be. Always had to be two steps ahead and three steps sideways.

"Of course." I said coolly, devoid of emotion. "And I've proved to be completely…_functional._" I let the word settle in the air. It was enough of a statement without me going all Rampage : World Tour on everyone.

I was right; my reaction was part of some judgment Fury had been making. He nodded to himself, then moved to address the Avengers as a whole.

"So be on your feet. Stay close to home. I'll be calling you in again once we receive updates from the field."

Clearly dismissed, we all made to leave.

"Saintclair."

I paused in my ascent, turning to face Fury.

"Stay a moment."

The others looked between us with a gambit of expressions. Stark's for instance, was a perfect poker face, while Banner's was coloured with resigned sympathy.

"Of course."

When everyone else had left, he approached me.

"You know why I did that?"

"I'm gonna go ahead and say it was either a test or someone put salt in your coffee this morning." I crossed my arms. "So did I pass?"

"I wanted to know if you were at a level of composure to integrate further with the team. It's apparent by the reactions of the others that you've managed to make a fairly big impression in a short amount of time. That's good. I'll have you train with them later today. You might just be battle-ready by the end of the week." He paused. "I've got to warn you, though, Saintclair. I need you to summon all your personal demons and slay them quick. It's entirely plausible that one of the groups involved in this alliance is the Apocalypse Project."

I don't know why my heart choked on itself for a few seconds. I'd known that the Project hadn't simply dissolved when I was extracted. I still had the faces of the other girls imprinted behind my eyelids, first alive with every spark of human tragedy, then cold and blank as titanium. All of us together had ceased being positively human the day missions began.

I had ceased being human.

"Good to know." I managed.

"Can you handle this?"

"Talk to me in a few hours, Director. I've got to go unearth some holy water and hand grenades."

A cup of coffee was waiting for me outside the door.

"Ready for that talk?" Stark asked.

We met up in Banner and Stark's lab. Banner was already there, sitting around one of the few tables that didn't look like it belonged in a hospital or with some wacky experiment on it. He pulled out the chair next to him for me, and I smiled briefly.

"Sorry about what the Director said." He said in that muted manner of his that made it seem like he was the most tranquil thing in the universe. It was a trick I'd have to ask him to teach me. "It wasn't kind."

"If nothing else happens for a reason, everything he does and says does."

"So he wasn't just being a prick?" Stark asked, deadpan. It was obvious he hadn't suspected as much, but I appreciated his play.

"No. He wanted to know if I could handle being pushed about…well, this." I gestured to my body, which was a product of technology. Even though it was largely organic, the mere fact that I could regenerate had an awful synthetic quality about it. "I'm a prime example of bio-conversion. I can count on one hand the parts of me that are completely original."

They looked both a bit queasy and fascinated.

"And what did he decide? I thought you handled it pretty well." Banner said.

"Yeah, you didn't go bat shit crazy or anything." Stark conceded.

"He's thinking of putting me into battle early." I swept my hair behind my ear. "But that's not what I came here to talk about. What is it you two want to know about the operation?"

"What powers your prosthetic hand?"

"Good question. From what we've experimented with while I was in SHIELD rehab, we've figured it's something entirely unprecedented in the market. It parallels your own arc reactor in some manners, Stark."

"And what does it feel like?" Banner asked, leaning forward. "Is it like an alien limb?"

"It feels…it's not like I was born with it. More like…we're inseparable. Anyways. It's geared for efficiency; smooth transitions between projections. It's an effortless flow between thought and realization."

"Neat." Stark said. He put his hand over my gloved one on the table. "Would you mind if we took a look?"

"Tony." Banner said reproachfully. He glanced up at me. "Though I'll admit, I'm interested in it as well. I don't want you to feel pressured about this, though. Obviously you're not a lab rat."

"I'm just impressed that Stark didn't rip it off from the get-go." I smiled good naturedly. "Go ahead, look." I let Stark strip the glove away, leaving my metal hand cold against the tabletop.

"_Neat." _He repeated, tone pitched low in wonder. Surely he'd seen contraptions like it before, but I figured what really caught his attention was the way the hand was joined to the rest of me. It didn't look like anything out of Frankenstein. Rather, there was no clear distinction where metal ended and skin began. It was seamless. Perfection. Abomination.

"I don't know how they managed it." I said before either of them could ask. "It's almost like they fused it on a molecular level, almost distorting the lines between organic and inorganic matter."

Banner briefly took his eyes off my hand to question me directly. "For an art student, you seem to know a lot about the plausible science behind this."

"I had two years of living with it, hearing the Project scientists discuss it, and on top of that, the live-in scientists at the SHIELD rehabilitation center probably spent more time with me than their families."

"Ah." He returned to his exploration. They observed in silence for awhile and began asking me to flex and move in different positions. I finally constructed a projection for them, a simple transformation into a row of blades. I could feel the nanotechnology swim inside me.

"Could you show us how you regenerate?"

I shook my head and Stark looked as if I'd threw up all over his Christmas presents. "Strictly against the rules Fury gave me. I'm not allowed to recreationally force a regeneration cycle." I paused. "Get me a piece of paper."

"What?"

"Any paper. Postcard, sticky note, I don't care."

He produced an envelope from one of the lab drawers.

"I'm just so careful and fabulous, I just can't imagine me ever getting a papercut." I sliced my finger, the nonmetal one, deliberately. "Oh lookie there. Guess I'm not as skilled as I thought."

I let the blood drip slowly around the wound, pocketing the paper and holding my hand up to the light so the boys could watch the process.

It wasn't like in the movies, when it looks like a fast-forwarded clip of the body healing naturally. The blood rose in a tiny rivulet in the air and twisted into nothingness, absorbed by the atmosphere. Then the skin began to knit itself together again. When it was over, I waited for their reactions.

"That is…something else entirely." Banner breathed.

"Think of the applications…" Stark shook his head, dazed.

"Yes, well, it's hardly transferable." I said, pulling them out of whatever science-y thoughts they were in. "Honestly, I'm surprised you two weren't brought in to work on my case."

They exchanged a brief, guilty look.

"Oh God. You _were _consulted, weren't you?"

"Well, we were approached." Banner began humbly.

"But we declined." Stark said. "It was around the time when were relatively new to the team. Fury let it slide since we were still managing a lot of the aftermath of the Chitauri invasion…"

"And now…?"

"Now I've got a lot more time on my hands and a lot more interest." Stark said, looking mildly abashed.

Banner didn't offer any explanation.

"I'd like to help you." He said instead. "I want to see if we can eradicate all of the remaining programming so you're risk free. And, um." He ruffled his hair absently. "If I was you, I would feel more my own person if I got rid of all that."

I didn't speak. I felt my first surge of real comradeship. I swallowed.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's about where I am, too."

Before the cockles of our hearts had the chance to feel all microwaved, a short cough came from the doorway of the lab.

"Fury sent me to find you." Rogers said colourlessly. I wondered how much he'd seen and heard, and what he thought of it if anything at all. "It's time to train."

**Steve, y u so unapproachable ? Oy ve. Anyhoo, training and then the first fight of the new team :DD Onwards ~! **


	5. Bullets and BandAids

**A/N Okay these chapters aren't getting shorter...IMPROMPTU CELEBRATION. \(owo )\ /(owo)/ Not gonna lie, this one's extremely fun to write. So don't hate me, but, I'm not stellar at writing battle scenes. So forgive the whole Black Widow / Arcade session. Hopefully it'll be better when everyone's fighting all at once so I don't have to try to write in such detail.**

"Fury trusts us to train on our own, but he insists we train together at least once every few days so we can practice tagteaming." Barton explained as we watched Rogers and Thor spar. "He wants us to be as comfortable with everyone else's style of combat as much as our own, so using them in sync isn't aimless. Also, it's a failsafe in case one of us falls prey to the influence of one of our adversaries." His eyes darkened though his voice remained unscathed, and I wondered if he was thinking back to the battle of the Chitauri led by Loki. "He usually leaves it up to us to figure out training, but sometimes he'll drop a line and give us scenarios to play out. Tony loves being the villain."

I slid a glance his way, who was a few feet away, heads bent with Banner, speaking intently.

I could believe it.

"Has he said what he wants out of me today?"

Rogers ducked as Thor swung Mjolnir around with a disgruntled cry. The hammer came down angrily, and though Rogers was clearly out of its path, the sheer force and weight of the thing caused him to falter with aftershocks. Thor used it as an opportunity to charge forward, but Rogers caught him with his shield at the last second. Together they were a display of raw will and power, both men engrained with unshakable values from their upbringings and each born to defend—or rather, enforce, since they were hardly defensive parties.

It was interesting to see some of the better things that battle could bring out in people.

"He wants you to pair up with Natasha for a first run. Depending on how that goes, he'd like you to go a round with Thor."

I glanced back at the "thunder god" and raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."

Barton sighed. "Look, I shouldn't say anything, but I know that the Director's strictly told them to not go easy on you. Not that I think you can't handle yourself or anything, but I thought you should know going into it that you're going to have to be giving one hundred percent."

"Thanks, Barton. I won't disappoint." In fact, I was entirely unbothered. I might not know how I matched up to Romanov or Thor, but I knew the extent of my abilities. I felt like the others might just see a chick with a metal hand, a misdirected art student, but I'd been seasoned for battle as much as any one of them. More, so, because for the past three years that was my sole purpose for existing.

"And another thing, Lane."

"Yeah?"

"You're gonna hafta start calling us by our names. Our first names." He leveled me with a serious gaze, though I couldn't understand why. "First of all, we're on a team. We can't be Agent-This-and-That to each other, because then we're no better than strangers. Second of all, us letting each other know our real, true identities is a vote of confidence In each other. It's a trust thing." He smiled briefly, not unkindly. "You need to work on those."

It was the most he'd ever said to me in one go, and the most personal. I didn't respond right away. I didn't want the first thing to come out of my mouth to be something impartial or defensive. So I thought about what he'd said. And, honestly, it rang pretty true.

"Sure thing, Barton." I raised an eyebrow ironically, proving a point in good humour. "Clint it is."

He shook his head minimally. "You're a little like Tony, you know that?"

"I feel like that's an insult around here."

"Or the best compliment you've had in your life." Stark—Tony-called as he walked over, Banner trailing behind him.

"Or that." Clint agreed dryly.

"Lane. Are you ready?" Natasha called from across the facility.

"As ever." I called back. I turned to the boys. "I'm out."

"Good luck." Tony said. "She's like a hellcat, but meaner." He said it entirely fondly.

"Wouldn't be fun any other way." I replied. I didn't feel half the humour or bluster I'd said.

Combat wasn't any kind of endeavor I enjoyed on my own. It wasn't a source of exhilaration, or a stand for my beliefs, or a fight for the benefit and protection of others. It was either a fight to live or a fight to kill and that was all.

When I fought, cold intensity poured itself through my veins and I was something else until the last breath had been drawn. And that was just a side effect of the life I'd been forced to live. When I was actually programmed with an objective, the humanity in me remained only in the form of apathy in response to other living things. I was me to a degree. Just a me that had no problem eliminating hundreds of lives, be it innocent or not.

The training ground she'd chosen was a simple expanse of concrete. It would be just us, her guns, and my hand.

"Begin."

I don't know what exactly happened after the syllables fell from someone's lips. One minute we were just circling like birds of prey, waiting to see who would make the first move, planning attacks and counterattacks and counterattacks to each other's counterattacks. Then friction happened, motion, movement, and we were running at each other. At first it was hand-to-hand. She was agile, compact. She dove and threw her fists at me, trying to get me off balance. I used the motion to pull us both down, rolling with the movement until I was back on my feet. I threw a punch at her solar plexus, which she blocked easily.

Her fist connected with a pressure point and I gritted my teeth, stumbling back as if I was in a significant amount of pain. Honestly, it felt as if a mosquito had bit me. Of all the different types and points of pain I'd endured, this didn't faze me in the least. Just as I'd wanted, Natasha took the opportunity to charge. We got in what can only be described as a scuffle; too much happened too quick to accurately describe who hit what and how. We bounced back from each other. Natasha retreated further and withdrew a pistol from her ankle. I can take a few bullets without having to go comatose for regeneration, but it's an entirely bothersome and unpleasant experience.

I flexed my metal hand, waiting for Natasha to make her move so I could decide on a projection. She fired off two rounds in quick succession, testing the waters. I made a brief movement with my hand that must have looked like some form of interpretative dance. On the upswing it was nothing but shining electronics, but coming down, as I leveled it in the open air, it became a gust of anorexic metal, so thin it looked like a loosely connected string of blobs from a lava lamp. The bullets were instantly pulverized, becoming nothing but faerie dust on the concrete.

Natasha's face was tense for a moment, not concerned, but calculating how to move forward from the unexpected manifestation of my abilities.

I advanced, hoping to end this session efficiently and fluidly. What ended up happening was she shot me four times in my fully organic arm. I'm sure there was a concerned, shocked murmur from the others, but I brushed it off along with the bullets. I gave the site a glance.

"Thank you for making most of those clean." I commented without inflection. I gritted my teeth then, because while the shots didn't hurt as others would feel them, they still stung a little.

They didn't slow me down.

Which was obviously what Natasha had wanted, because her eyes narrowed in disbelief as I kept coming.

I made a tactical misstep and found myself pinned on the ground.

"I wasn't expecting this from you." Natasha said. "I don't know what I did. I guess I thought you'd be like any other operative. But you're in another league."

I accepted that with a minimal nod. "I, however, completely expected you to be as good as this."

I created a projection of claws, using them to gain traction and purchase in the concrete. I planted my feet square in the middle of Natasha's torso and pushed, hard. She fell back just enough for me to manipulate my weight so that I spun onto my feet. As she was rising, recovering and regaining her balance, I kicked her down swiftly. I settled my weight over her solar plexus and pointed a single metal claw over her heart.

"Match." I said. I immediately stood up and walked away. I didn't make a move to help her up. I respected her too much.

"That was…incredible." Clint said.

"I, too, am impressed with the magnitude of your skill." Thor said appreciatively.

"Thank you." I replied modestly. The only pride I held in my abilities was that I could control them. Sometimes I still felt in awe of them, felt elated that I could wield such power. But memories of my time on the field always put water to that flame quick.

"I can't believe you shot her." Tony said as Natasha joined the group. "But I guess she paid that back pretty quick by demolishing your ass."

She sent him a frigid look, which widened his grin.

"Don't make fun of her too much." I intervened before Natasha could demolish _Tony's _ass. "It wasn't an unbalanced fight. She could have taken me down just as well if she placed those bullets a little differently, or if she just kept shooting long enough." I said it clinically, not wanting to offend Natasha's pride but wanting her to know she was a worthy adversary.

Any of those shots could have made it to a vital organ like my heart, and I'd have been out for hours regenerating. If just one had hit me in certain places on my spine, that could have led me to death. My one Achilles' heel.

"I hope you didn't take that the wrong way." Natasha said, now looking at me. The battle was wiped from her eyes, and there was familiarity in her tone. "I knew you could handle it, and we were operating as if in a real battle. It wasn't personal."

"Of course it wasn't. It's okay, I understand how these things go." I flexed my arm briefly, felt the sting of lead. "It was leaps and bounds better than my old sparring days."

"Why is that?" Rogers—_Steve—_asked, speaking up for the first time.

"Because then I had to fight with a whole bunch of other people who could regenerate. It didn't even the playing field. It just made it a little messier." I felt my arm again, frowning. "Yeah, you definitely got some lead stuck in there."

"Sorry."

"You're good. Bruce, could you help me out here?"

"Sure. Let's go up to the lab and take care of it."

"I'll tell Fury you did well." Natasha promised and I nodded appreciatively.

The others fell into a jumble of conversation as I fell into step beside Bruce.

"You said you were a mediocre field doctor, right?" He asked.

"Field doctor as in for my kind of people. I feel like it'd be somewhat socially unacceptable for me to dig it out with my bare fingers."

"Good call." He gave me a halfsmile.

When we got to the lab, we chatted while he plucked the lead out with tongs and bandaged my arm.

"So what's the deal with Rogers?" I asked absently while he twisted the bandage in a sticky knot.

"Steve? What about him?"

"I don't know. He just seems the hardest to talk to on the team."

Banner didn't pause as he scissored the bandage and sealed it.

"Well, if it seems that way, it might because your …abilities…are hard for him to accept."

"How could that be? He's all…supernatural…himself."

"Well, your situation is unusual as far these things go. It's not a hard leap for me because I was more or less an experiment, too. Tony's grown up with all sorts of strange technological enterprises. Natasha's had enough of a dark past to fill in all the blanks, she can sympathize with you. Clint's just a very mellow guy to begin with and Thor's considered a god where he came from, the idea of regeneration is not too much of a stretch for him." He took a breath. "But, see, I imagine this is just the cherry on top of the shellshock Steve's been going through since he woke up in this new age. They hardly had any sort of advanced prosthetic, let alone to the degree yours is. And besides that, you might remind him of himself."

I took a moment to process that. Bruce was often a quiet one, but he obviously observed and analyzed everything that happened around him. I was impressed by his insight. And totally confused.

"I'm nothing like him."

"You're both supersoldiers, aren't you?" Bruce asked mildly. "You're like Captain America 2.0, except you were engineered for the wrong team. It might unnerve him to see all these parallels mixed with all this new age technology. He had a fit about the whole Iron Man thing for awhile, too."

"Well that is certainly a novel interpretation of things, Bruce."

"I do what I can." He patted my arm gently and put his hands on his knees with a soft sigh. "Look, if it bothers you this much, I suggest talking to him about it yourself. He'll hardly turn you away. All those old school codes of chivalry and everything."

"I'll consider that, Quigon."

"You do that. In the meantime, let's head back to the others. We've got a lot of groundwork to do."

I took one last look at the bandage. Closed my eyes. I knew that by now the wounds were healed. It was a waste of a bandage, but its worth was in the time I got to talk to Bruce.

I followed him out the door, ready for whatever else the team was raring to throw at me.

**Okidokiloki (: . Things are about to get intense with fighting and feels. Leggo. 3 **


	6. Comrades in Arms

**A/N : Okay~! Finally we reach Arcade's first fight as an Avenger. And it doesn't go too well. **

"This is a horrible game." I said grumpily.

"That's just because you're losing." Tony gloated, taking three more cards from my hand.

"That's because I only win at games worth winning. And this is a horrible game."

Tony proceeded to dominate the game for five whole turns more before Bruce swooped in at the last minute and won with a quiet smirk. While he took in his winnings—just petty change, since I was a newbie and Tony didn't want to waste good money on a newbie in case I had the "unfair advantage" of beginner's luck—Tony pouted.

"You're right. This is a horrible game."

"Well, then. Next time let's play something better. Like poker. Or, hell, Go Fish would have been an improvement."

I hopped off the lab counter.

We were just sitting down to another game when Natasha barged in the lab.

"Suit up. Now."

"What's the rush, Red?" Tony asked, leaning forward as he picked up cards.

She crossed the room and grabbed the cards out of Tony's hands, flinging them in a shower of hearts, spades, clubs, and diamonds on the table.

"Everything's the rush. That alliance the Director was prepping us for has made its first move. And we're _behind schedule. _We leave in three minutes. Be on board, or be left behind." She turned on her heel, somehow hurrying out in a slinky, dignified manner.

We wasted no time looking at each other.

"This isn't the type of party I try to be fashionably late to." Tony murmured to no one in particular as he went to the far end of the lab. He picked up a brief case and made his way out of the room.

"If you need to do anything specific to get battle ready, you should rush back to your room and do it. I've got everything I need right here, " Bruce tapped his chest, "so I'm heading out to the carrier."

"Got you." I left him, then, racing back to my room as my heart raced along with my steps and my brain raced along with my heart. It was a wholly thrilling game of race-ception. I had no idea what to expect. _My first battle with the good guys-AS a good guy. _It was oddly unreal.

I didn't have much in the way of a costume or anything. It was abundantly obvious I'm not a hero by nature, anyways. So my outfit was more in the way of Black Widow than Captain America. I wore a black bodysuit with silver plating. Fury had had it designed for me months after my rehabilitation began. Apparently he'd had designs on me joining the team from the get-go. Not surprising. There was plating along the spine, to protect my one true weak spot. The one personifying touch I'd added was stylized 8-bit creatures reminiscent of Space Invaders that stood for my team persona, Arcade. If nothing else, I'd be ruthless in style.

By the time I got to the carrier, everyone was sitting tensely in rigid positions with drawn expressions full of concentration and energy. The sentiment of battle was tangible. I sat next to Bruce by instinct. Tony was already at his other side, gazing at the floor, clearly disgruntled.

"You know, I don't see the point in being here right now." He said gruffly. "Those of us who can actually fly, _should._"

"And risk having you be outnumbered when we'd be more effective as an ensemble?" Clint countered.

"We could lessen the load, dwindle their numbers as a first wave so that when the rest of you arrived it would be the antics of children." Thor defended Tony's position.

"It's not worth the risk of weakening _our _forces prematurely." Natasha put in.

"As opposed to wasting a good advantage just sitting here?" Tony countered adamantly.

"I think you're missing the point of us even being the Avengers. Being a team. We go in together, we come out together. We get the job done." Steve argued, eyes narrowed.

"Oh, don't go all preachy on me, Revere. I had enough of that from my tv evangelist." Tony said sharply.

"That's rich, Stark. Why do you always have to insist on these solo plans, anyways? Why are you even on the team if all you want to do is work alone?"

They were warm and things were looking like they were plowing on up to the boiling point and beyond. Honestly, they sounded like they were schoolboys fighting over crayons. I chalked it up to pre-combat testosterone and shook my head.

"Don't." The contrast of the chill in my voice to the agitated heat in theirs caused them to stop and look at me. "If Fury's right, if we're about to face a high-tech pantheon of supersoldiers, just don't. Don't fight each other. Or pre-order some daisies now, because you're fast-tracking us on a plane to death." I took a breath. "If what we're facing is anything like what I am, solo isn't going to cut it. Fury's led me to believe there's a strong chance they are. So I'm telling you right now. If you shoot to kill, aim for the spine. Or hit all the vital organs in sequence. If you shoot to stun, aim for a vital organ—the heart is the most efficient—or remove a limb."

Their looks were not the most open or flattering. More like I'd suggested passing around the spirit stick and playing jacks until we arrived on site.

"You're telling us…to shoot living things through their _hearts _and remove their _limbs. _To _stun _them." Steve said slowly, accusatorily. "Like they're animals."

"No. Like they're beings beyond their own control who likely can't feel pain or anything at all, and if they could, they'd be mentally incapable of handling what they'd become." I said matter-of-factly. "It's not like you can toss a tranq dart their way and hope for the best. I assume you'd like to get out alive at the end of this as well."

"You're sure about this?" Natasha asked. Not with any colouring of distrust or judgment. Pure intensity.

"Yes." I said. "And for the love of all that is bright and beautiful, do not hesitate."

Bruce leaned towards me just enough for our shoulders to brush. It was an entirely inappropriate time for me to smile, so I trusted him to know I appreciated the solidarity.

We collectively lapsed into a silence full of pensive thoughts with a high chance of brooding and internal conflict.

I was worried about being in a real battle with real enemies, with full control of myself and my actions. What if I had to seriously injure someone? I couldn't even think 'to kill'. If it came to that, I would let myself be slain and hope the team would understand. I just couldn't go back to wading in those waters. Especially against people who deserved absolutely everything but the living nightmare they were getting.

What if I ran into someone I knew from the Project?

Brief flashes of comrades—true comrades, people joined as survivors, a coven of prisoners—assaulted me before I shut them out with the mental equivalent of slamming a book shut. I couldn't think of those faces, because they were faces I'd left behind when I was rescued. They were faces I didn't fight for until it was too late, when the Project had relocated and the facility I'd stormed looking for them lay bare, with scraps of metal and empty anesthesia containers still littering the floors.

We arrived at the water plant.

The scene was organized chaos.

There was a group of five individuals, three women and two men, far off. They were milling about the plant with a purpose, checking valves and switches. They weren't armed, but that hardly meant anything if they were my kind of people. All along the metal grating floor was debris and blood. Officers lay clutching their arms and legs, blood seeping through their clothing. But not a single one was dead.

When they caught sight of us, their expressions of pain contorted into expressions of agonized hope.

"Thank God." One of them said.

"Help us." Another cried.

"What happened?" Rogers asked, striding forward ahead of us.

"We just got called out here…a worker phoned us, that there was a group of armed militants taking over the water plant. We got here, and there weren't any workers. We asked what had happened to them, thought we had a mass hostage situation on our hands, but the militants just said 'it's not yet the day to categorize' and went on like we weren't there…" The officer broke off, gasping with pain.

Another one picked up the story through gritted teeth. "It was just weird, Captain. We tried to stop them and they attacked us…" His face grew white, but with horror. "We were wondering how they overtook the place, since they weren't armed like the worker said…but...they _were. _They're not human, whatever they are. Their fingers turned to metal and they sliced us up."

"They just left us here." The first one said, having gained composure. "They debated killing us, but the one—the one that seems to be in charge, he just said 'it's not yet the day to categorize' and they acted like we just weren't here any more."

Rogers patted him lightly on the shoulder. "You're safe now." He turned to Bruce and Black Widow. "Can you patch them up and escort them to safety?"

They nodded assent and set to work.

"Hurry back. I feel like we're going to need all the firepower we've got for this one."

"I'm going to go find a perch." Clint said evenly.

It was down to Thor, Tony, Rogers, and I.

We walked right up to the militants. We gave them a few yards of space, because we weren't stupid, but they seriously just let us approach them without opening fire—or in their case, slashing away at us.

"What are you doing?" Rogers asked evenly.

They stopped working collectively and turned to look at us. I unconsciously inched closer to Tony's side. There was just such an inhuman way they moved…entirely organic—it's not like they were robots or anything—but in sync. Like puppets. I glanced up briefly to make sure the marionette master wasn't glowering down at us as he pulled the strings.

"We are Unit Echelon Fifty-Six, enacting an operation to secure the water supply under direction of the Alliance." One of the men said. He had wavy brown hair and blue eyes. Stubble. He looked like a college kid. Not nearly old enough to be in charge of a militant unit trying to take over a city water plant.

"The Alliance?" Rogers questioned.

"The Alliance for the Universal Biotechnological Revolution."

"Who's responsible for this? What do they want?"

The kid's voice remained impassive. "The Engineers. Everything."

"I don't like the sound of this at all." Tony said, flexing his suit. "I say let's snip this in the bud before the tin soldiers start going haywire."

The kid looked at Tony. He cocked his head to the side.

"Threat acquired. Status: It is not yet the day for categorization." He turned to his comrades. "Incapacitate."

And then it was completely apparent they were my kind of people, because in one fluid motion they all removed gloves from their right hands and charged us.

"Vital organs and limbs!" I shouted as a reminder as we broke apart.

One of the women came at me, using a basic projection of talons. I hastily backpedalled. I formed a perfect replica of her projection. They met with an ugly clang as she tried to push forward and I pushed back. I searched her eyes for the cold bloodthirst, the distanced apathy I'd felt when my own program was activated. But I found nothing.

Absolutely nothing. It was like all capability to emote had been drawn out of her. _Stored in her hard drive, _I thought bitterly. So this was a newer model. I could deny it no longer; the Apocalypse Project had moved on to bigger and better things after I'd been rescued. It had hid and grown into a horrible, twisted manifestation of human ambition. My stomach churned and heart grew cold at the realization that every nightmare I'd had since that day was really a reality not far from where I lay in sweat and tears.

"System detected. Status: Sleep Mode. Course of action: activate, or terminate." I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to figure her out, then realized she was talking about me.

She was going to try to reboot the program, or kill me.

"Oh _hell _no, you do _not._" I hissed. We broke apart and started circling. I pretended that I was back sparring with Natasha, that I didn't need to get so worked up, just stay focused and meet my goal. That thought process was thrown out the window right quick and in a hurry. Because my veins were on fire with anger at what the Project had done to this girl and anger at what they'd done to me, and so much at what they were still trying to do.

I was a true Avenger, the raging, destructive kind.

We fought. We both got in a few stellar swipes and in no time at all we were both covered in ribbons of scratches and gashes. But we were healing just as quick. We could go on forever. And we did a good job of trying, until I slipped in a stream of blood and lost my balance. The Projectbot wasted no time in leveling her weight on me and reaching to smash the back of my skull.

I could feel her clockwork breaths on my shoulder as she made her move. But then she fell back and gasped a shrill scream of pain, toppling over. I looked up and past her immobile form to see Clint's dark eyes up in the rafters. We exchanged grim expressions.

"Sweet dreams." I murmured to the girl, apologetic that she'd been unceremoniously dumped into a regeneration cycle that would take hours.

I turned back to the foray. Tony was handling his man pretty well. It helped that he was covered in armor, but the metal of our hands was obviously stronger since deep gashes traced his figure. Thor was holding his own as well, swinging Mjolnir artfully and blocking the metallic advance of one of the remaining women. Rogers had the other man and the final woman was…

Sticking a thin, metal projection into my arm.


	7. Battle Scars and Lemonade

**A/N Hey beautiful people! Thank you for all the follows, favourites, and review c: You make my day sparkly and encourage me to keep writing.**

**Now. **

**Onward!**

I shouted and jerked my arm away.

"DNA sample processing." The Projectbot said to herself. "Identity confirmed. The Architect." She glanced up at me with blank eyes. "The Architect."

"Stop." I whispered, feeling the blood drain from my face. I backed away further.

"System offline. Status: Sleep Mode. Course of action: retrieve."

I made my go-to projection of claws, ready to fend off the woman.

She came at me quicker than expected, with a reckless abandon reserved for things that have absolutely no sense of self-preservation. Given that she was practically unstoppable by any human force, I couldn't hold that against her. I just matched it.

It only took seconds for our bodies to become riddled with puncture wounds and slashes. They hardly mattered, since they were about as lethal as paper cuts to us and healed in minutes if not seconds. Except mine didn't. I frowned down at them, but didn't have time to focus on it for long. Not if I wanted to live. I gathered that the woman was not designed for serious combat. She seemed geared towards barrages and defense, not programmed for any sort of strategy.

I was going in over her heart when she caught me by surprise and drove her projection into my knees. I fell forward involuntarily, catching my breath as the regeneration began in hyper drive. It would only take a few seconds, but it was seconds I was immobile. She took the opportunity to reach for the back of my skull. I felt her fingers press down, saw her projection change, becoming a blunt instrument. I was panicking. I tried to crane back, drive a blade projection into her lung.

Except she broke my wrist.

That one was enough to make me grit my teeth.

She was just pulling back to swing when the Captain swung his shield around and caught her in the stomach. She stumbled back several yards, catching herself before she fell.

"Can't have that." He said colourlessly. His attention was on me for less than a second. But in battle, less than a second can easily mean certain death. That's why he didn't see the Projectbot propel herself at him at full speed, with a projection of incredibly wicked spikes aimed at his heart.

I didn't have time to warn him. To scream. To push him out of the way. He was a supersoldier. Heightened senses. He was catching on, raising his shield.

But would that be enough against the material of the projection?

I didn't know.

So I dashed ahead of him.

My skin gave easily under the metal. I felt it tear through the first layer, dig, felt it come out the other side. I made a small noise of pain, grunted as the metal retreated.

I stumbled back into Rogers. An arrow struck the Projectbot straight through the kidney. She fell to the ground. I pulled away from Rogers, though he tried to stop me.

"Let go." I shouted. "I'm fine. I'm fine."

I rushed forward, falling onto the Projectbot. I knelt on her torso, keeping her pinned. I barely had minutes before she shut down into a full regeneration cycle.

"You know who I am. Tell me. Tell me what they want here."

"It has started."

"What has started?"

"It has started."

"_What _has started?"

"There are bodies in the field. B-bodies. Must retrieve. Must s-s-silence." She began to stutter as she shut down.

"You're a field nurse, aren't you?" I asked. Of course. That explained why she wasn't converged with intensive tactical design. I glanced around. All of the Projectbots were shut down. Despite her obvious handicaps, she was still trying to do her duty.

"Correct."

"That means you have direct access to the top. Call them."

"Invalid."

I applied pressure to the wound without a thought. I was beyond mercy. My blood was running thick with fear. _They were looking for me. _Why else would they keep tabs on my DNA in their new models?

Because as far as they were concerned, I was stolen property.

Mercy didn't matter apparently, though, because it was becoming clear these models lacked a lot more than I had thought. It seemed not only did they lack any response to pain stimulation, they lacked emotional stimulation as well. They were literally a step away from being human at all.

"Lane. Think about what you're doing." Rogers was trying to pry me off of the nurse. I batted his hand away roughly.

"Call them."

I leaned close to her ear, so the others wouldn't hear. "Think. You know who I am. Tell me who they would rather hear from."

"The Architect is obsolete."

I frowned.

"**But she will have audience.**" I flinched as the sound of a man's voice came from the Projectbot.

"**Hello, Lane. Do you remember who you're speaking to?**"

I paused. The voice shouldn't have such an effect on me. It'd been a year. I was safe, I was alive. I was not theirs. "The third Engineer."

"**Good, good. A prodigy should remember her roots.**" Though the Projectbot's lips moved, I imagined the Third's. He was a tall man with sunny hair and smiling eyes. He looked like he should be a librarian or a teacher's aide. But he ended up being one of the directors of an international scientific crisis project, instead.

"Shut up." It was crude, but I felt stronger, more grounded for saying it. "Tell me what you've sent your troops here for."

"**Let's maintain a little decorum, Lane. Things are about to get…**_**unpleasant**_**…enough for you as it is.**" The voice grew dark, threatening.

"_What _are you doing here?"

"**The nurse unit told you already. It has begun.**" I scowled as he referred to her as something less than human. It was hypocritical, of course, but since he was the reason she was what she was—that I am what I am—I felt like it made it the ultimate degradation.

"Does the rest of your alliance know what you are planning?"

"**Oh, Lane. It's hardly an alliance. It's more of an empire, really. And who do you think sits on the throne?**"

I swallowed, hard. "How many days?" I spat out the blood that had begun dripping down my chin. That was wrong. I wasn't healing right. But I didn't care. All I cared about was this man, right here, right now.

"**Excuse me?**"

"How many days until the first siege?"

He laughed. The Third was fond of laughing, and every time caused a shiver down my spine. Evil men should not have such cheerful, inviting laughs. It was just icky.

"**Have you lost all your intelligence since you've been with SHIELD, sweetheart? I'm hardly a common criminal who's going to monologue all his secrets and strategies. But I will tell you, you won't have to wait long."**

"Why are you keeping tabs on me?"

"**Isn't it obvious? We can't have our toys on the market, Lane. You're a collectible now. So much…**_**value. **_**Wouldn't want the world to have more of a sneak peek then they've already gotten**_**.**_**"**

"Tell me what you've done with the others. The ones who were in my unit." I coughed, applying pressure to my wound. I should have been healed by then.

"**Survivor's guilt? Understandable. Well. Janine has adapted just splendidly here. You would have been proud. Anya and Mandy, on the other hand. Well. Mandy was a lost cause before we even began. Anya was upgraded along with you, Lane. And then she failed. So she was replaced. Just as you were replaced.**"

"Replaced?" There was a hole in the pit of my stomach that nothing could fill, imagining someone else being 'upgraded' to fill my position.

"**What? You didn't think you were so special you couldn't be replaced, did you? How very…**_**vain **_**of you.**"

"I'll stop you."

"**You'll try. But can you stop **_**yourself **_**when it comes down to it, little Saintclair?"**

"What do you mean?"

"**I mean you're a survivor. And if you're smart, you'll start thinking about aligning yourself with the winning team if you want to survive the coming days. And don't have your feelings too hurt, Lane. You'll have your chance to…replace your replacement.**"

I didn't reply. My reply would have probably been to throttle him, but there was a practicality issue with that, so I remained silent. To think that I would _willingly _go back to them and help them in their twisted little plot.

"**No witty comeback? You really have lost a lot of your spark since you joined that operation. That's a shame. But hang onto that angry silence, Lane. You were a cold beauty in battle as I remember. I'd love to see you working that avenging angle.**" He paused. "**It's been fun catching up, it really has. But it seems this unit is failing and we've got a mess to clean up down there at the water plant. Do me a favour and scrap those units? No, of course you wouldn't. You're acting like you have a heart these days. No matter. Don't worry about finding us, dear. Genesis will come for you."**

There was a click, and then silence. The Projectbot collapsed into a regeneration cycle. I didn't notice I was breathing so hard until there was no other noise to compete with.

"Damn!" I cried out of nowhere. It was too much. Just too damn much. My heart hurt, my eyes burned, and the hole in my chest was not getting smaller like it should have.

"Lane." I had kind of forgotten I wasn't the only person in the room.

I barely had it in me to acknowledge Tony, but I did.

"We need to get you out of here."

I didn't fight as Rogers, who was closest to me, pulled me up and into his arms. I winced.

"My hero." I said ironically. He didn't respond. I didn't waste the energy in looking up to see his expression.

"There's a clean-up response unit heading in." Bruce said, falling into step beside us. "They're going to take the…soldiers…into protective custody. We need to head out." He reached for my hand and squeezed it once. "This isn't right, is it? Your wound."

"No." I murmured, feeling exhausted. That wasn't right, either. The wound was pretty bad, but it shouldn't be enough to require my systems to slow and conserve energy for regeneration.

"Hang on. Tony and I will take care of you back home."

I gave him a slow, pained salute. The effort it took just to raise my arm disturbed me. "Aye, aye."

I felt all eyes on me as we got back to the carrier. _So that was a great first day on the job. _If they had any reservations about thinking I was a freak, they would feel free to now.

"You can put me down now, Rogers." I mumbled.

"Someone needs to keep you steady."

"It's on you now, I offered you an easy out."

I closed my eyes.

"I'm going to need you to stay as alert as you can, Lane." Bruce said gently, pressing on my arm.

He shook me when I didn't open my eyes. "Lane. Lane!"

I squinted at him blearily. "Fine. I'm fine."

"You know what's fine?" Tony asked from his seat across the aisle. "My face. Feel free to keep looking at it until we get back." It was sweet, his attempt at cockiness, but concern ruined his light manner.

"That man. The one who spoke out of the woman. You called him an engineer. You knew him?" Clint asked.

"Yeah." I coughed. "He was in charge of my operation."

"What did he mean, Genesis is coming for you?"

"Genesis. He meant…one of my old teammates is coming for me." I squirmed a little bit. He was holding me too tight.

"For what?" Thor asked.

"I don't know." I paused. My mouth tasted all gross and coppery. "To activate or terminate." I said, repeating the field nurse's words.

"What does that mean?" Bruce asked, kneeling beside me and wiping my mouth with a towelette from a first aid kit. I wouldn't be surprised if this carrier had a whole cargo load full of them.

"They want me back. But if they can't get me back…they're going to try their hardest to kill me."

It seemed like a lot of my time with the team was chockfull of wholesome family uncomfortable silences.

"We won't let that happen." Clint said solemnly.

"…" I was at a loss for words. I was expecting everyone to wash their hands of all the uncertainty and inhumanity that surrounded me, but instead they rallied around me like I was one of their own.

It was a painful kind of appreciation I felt.

When we got back to the base, Natasha and Clint volunteered to report to Fury while Tony and Bruce checked me out in the lab.

"Thank you, by the way." I told Clint just before he walked off. "That's twice you've saved my life in less than an hour."

He acknowledged it with a humble nod and joined Natasha.

"You know, I do have working legs." I told Rogers, who hadn't put me down yet.

"We both know the second I put you down, you'd topple over."

"Not true. I'd make it a couple of steps." I said indignantly.

"How about I just agree and we not test the theory?"

"Fine."

He finally set me down when we got to the lab. Immediately, Bruce and Tony were on me like mother hens, hooking me up to machine after machine and checking my vitals. Running bloodwork. It took forever and a day. Rogers eventually went off and came back with coffee, which the guys appreciated. They asked a hundred medical questions, some of which were entirely awkward.

"Tony, I know for a fact you do not need to know the last time I had sex to figure out why the hole in my chest is not closing properly."

"Well, you know, it could be a metaphorical hole in your _life." _He said dramatically. "Or, y'know, just the answer to why you're so disgruntled all the time."

"I am _not _disgruntled all the time. Am I disgruntled all the time, Bruce?"

He raised his hands in surrender.

"I think I'm perfectly gruntled, Tony."

"I think I found the problem." Bruce said, leaning back. "There's a foreign liquid in the wound." He held up a cotton swab for us to see. The wound was healed enough that the blood was dry, so the liquid was purely clear, not tainted with my blood cells.

"It seems to be some kind of advanced anticoagulant. The blood only just stopped flowing, and the rest of the regeneration cycle has been similarly slowed down."

"That must be new." I said. "They didn't have that back in my day. It's a useful upgrade, though." I said thoughtfully.

"How's that? It's only good against people who can regenerate. Seems counterintuitive." Tony said.

"True. But that's the field nurse's primary purpose. To salvage fallen soldiers or ensure their deaths so that the technology remains a secret."

"…That's sick."

"When are you going to stop being surprised by the things the Project does?" I snapped. "Stop being so naïve. It's not like these aren't tactics that people have used before."

"It's different." Rogers said tensely.

"How?"

"It's just not…not _human._"

"Well, it seems to be humans doing it, doesn't it? So obviously it's not out of the range of human capability." I said crossly. I don't know why. There wasn't any reason to fight with the people who actually cared about me, were trying to help me. I was just so over _everything. _

"Calm down there, Tiger." Tony said calmly.

I took a few deep breaths. "Sorry."

"You've had a bad day." Bruce said simply. "Here. I've gotten all of the substance out. We'll wait a bit and see what happens."

For awhile it seemed like we were just outta luck, but then, slowly, my body began to knit itself back together at a faster and faster pace. Eventually I was all patched up. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"That was…not fun."

"I imagine it wasn't." Bruce said nonchalantly. He had such a precise, dry sense of humour. I absolutely adored it.

"Thanks. All of you. I don't know what would have happened if I'd been on my own."

"You wouldn't have been able to regenerate and would have likely died a horrible, lonely death." Tony said helpfully. "So we pretty much saved your life big time. Feel free to feel obligated to grant our every wish from now on."

I rolled my eyes. "Right."

"I'm sure the Director's going to want to see us shortly. You should rest while you can." Bruce suggested.

"Best idea. Love it. Much better than Tony's." I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the gurney. "Let's not do this again sometime, boys."

"Ditto." Tony said.

I was feeling like an utter mess, trying to sort out all of the residual feelings of bloodlust and resentment the Engineers always left in me, the conflict I felt thinking about Janine and the other girls. _Obsolete. Replaced. _I knew what that meant. The only reason I'd survived my replacement was because I wasn't in their custody. _Then again, the way things were, if you were still with them, you wouldn't have been replaced at all. _The thought turned my blood to frost.

I was so involved in my thoughts, the feel of a hand on my arm made my jump. I looked up, embarrassed, to see Rogers looking down at me with an irritated expression.

"We need to talk."


	8. Russian Roulette

**A/N Hey everybody :D Thank you again for all the support in following and reviewing ! You're rockstars :3 **

**As a note: I will ALWAYS be okay with having my ideas compared to Doctor Who xD . **

**Coming soon: fluff, fighting, and a turn for the worse.**

I tried to hide my surprise.

"Well, then, follow along, soldier." I turned my back on him and led the way to my room. I assumed he wanted privacy, given his extremely perturbing 'I'm a serious man and right now I'm being seriously manly' tone, and if so, I definitely wanted it to be on home territory.

I barely had time to shut the door and step aside when he turned on me.

"Why did you take that hit for me?" He asked, eyebrows lowered.

"Because I could." I said simply and honestly.

Apparently that answer did nothing for him.

"I could have handled it."

"I'm sure you could've." I leveled gazes, trying to pinpoint where all his frustration was coming from. Did he think I was trying to show him up? Put him in my debt? Did he feel like I'd challenged his ability? "It was in the heat of battle. There was a momentum to it. I didn't mean to…offend you."

"I would have been fine." He continued, eyes narrowed. I'd read up a lot on Rogers along with the rest of the team. He is literally a piece of history, and it was visible in his face. I swear, he was like the human interpretation of patriotism and chivalry. I bet his downtime consists of sitting all tucked away reading the Constitution while eating one of those red, white, and blue popsicles listening to his ipod which only has patriotic songs like the national anthem.

But he also has an old-fashioned temper. There wasn't any of that young, meek forties man in his face right now.

"You didn't have to get hurt."

"Is that what this is about?" I asked, incredulous. I pointed at my chest where the wound had been, did a little demonstrative dance. "All fine. It's like it never happened."

"But it did happen." He said sternly, unappeased. "And it didn't have to."

"Look, _please _tell me you are not beating yourself up over this? Because that is just too far off the mark. Like I said, there was a point in the fight where I figured you could probably handle the situation, but I knew I could, too, and why not me? If anything went wrong, it'd be like an etch-a-sketch."

"Just because you can physically handle a lot of pain and wear and tear doesn't mean you should let yourself get mutilated." He said crossly.

Not gonna tell a tale, I was a little bit shocked. Up till now, Rogers had been fairly strong and silent when it came to me, but he sure had no problem having his say in this little heart-to-heart.

"I hardly went into it looking to get _mutilated._ Wasn't really the main attraction, you know? More like helping out my teammate. Since, y'know, we're a _team_?"

He sighed heavily, as if I was the one being completely ornery and disagreeable.

"Look. Just don't feel the need to take a bullet for us just because you can. We're hardly mere mortals ourselves. And one day, you might get hurt in a way you can't just walk away from." The sincerity in all Roger's anger and concern was what got me to let go of my own frustration.

"Aye, aye, Captain." I said. It seemed like he thought I was patronizing him, so I added, "No, I really get it, Steve." I felt odd addressing him by his first name, but I remembered what Clint said about it being a sign of trust. "I think you're being a little bit of a prima donna about it, but it makes sense. Honour. Protecting one's own. It's serious stuff. I'm not going to pinkie swear that I'm not going to do something like this again. If I think I can take a hit for one of you, I most likely will. It's what I can do for the team. It's not entirely selfless. I need….something to defend."

He didn't look pleased, but he didn't have much of a chance to argue the point since Fury called us in for a briefing.

"You rang?" Tony asked as he slumped down into his chair carelessly.

"Today's job wasn't a complete disaster. Good job. That being said, we now have a promised, impending crisis on our hands by the alliance. Since our informants have only just been put in play, our resident expert on the firepower of the alliance is Saintclair." His gaze fell on me with a bright focus. "Barton has informed me that you recognized the fighting formats of the militants you encountered today, and Dr. Banner has informed me you were able to analyze their upgrades effortlessly. I'd like you to brief the team on the breakdown of the units."

Just three days before, standing up and opening up about the Project to any degree would have made me uncomfortable. Now, though, I felt less like I was telling dark, shameful secrets of my past and more like I was simply building us up as a team to tear down the Project.

"The unit we faced today was a standard scout unit. Not meant for heavy combat. As you know, there were two men and three women. Genders mean nothing to the Project. They all had the standard prosthetics. There was a leader, three troops, and a field nurse." I took a breath. "In my time, the leader was the one with the most tactical upgrades, or intelligence. He guided the operation and instructed the troops in how to approach obstacles. The troops merely followed the leader's directions. The field nurse was in charge of keeping the silence."

"Keeping the silence?" Thor asked. "What does that entail?"

"Back in my day, our main operations were to find new subjects or do trial runs within the Project to eliminate weak subjects. Our job was to recover fallen soldiers, eradicate bystanders, and/ or eliminate soldiers deemed unfit."

"'Our job'?" Natasha asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"Yes. I was a field nurse before I was promoted." I said evenly, colourlessly. There really was no good way to say it. I let the information sink in in silence before Tony saved me with a question.

"And how does that process work? The ranking?"

"I don't know how it works now. Now the…people…are scarily close to having the mental capacity of robots. They don't feel, emotionally or physically. As far as I can tell, they will literally fight to the death. Somehow the Project has removed the drive for self-preservation. In my time, that was the basis for promotion. The fight for survival. The human will was the weapon they wanted to develop. I guess the Project has expanded enough now that the human will is just too much to handle on that scale. It can't last forever, though."

"Why's that?"

"Because the endgame revolves around a bettered human race, not a subservient, mindless one."

"How do you know their goal hasn't changed since you were with them?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, mad scientists aren't exactly the most consistent bunch out there." Tony said.

"They're intelligent revolutionaries. They'll die for this cause, or at least, they'll send as many people to die for it as they have at their disposal. What you need to understand, is that if we're going to stop this, you're going to have to put some of your ingrained principles on the back burner. It's going to hurt. You'll be fighting people who have nothing to lose, who aren't in their right minds, who will stop at nothing to end you. And we don't want to permanently harm them. So you're going to have to play rough. My kind aren't fragile little flowers."

"We'll do what we have to." Natasha said simply.

"Obviously, we'll try to be as gentle about it as possible." Clint agreed. "Well, as gentle as arrows and bullets and smashing can be."

"We'll recover as many of them as we can and keep them in custody until rehabilitation is plausible." Fury said. "Another thing, Saintclair. Barton told me one of the Project heads contacted you directly during the aftermath of the fight."

"Yes."

"I want you to share with the team the circumstances behind your latest role within the Project. They're going to need to know about the main three, especially now that we know they're planning a definitive strike and a recovery mission for you."

I was not prepared for this. I gripped the sides of my legs to keep my hands from trembling. _You're past it, _I told myself. It was a phase. Just a phase. A phase driven by desperation. _You're not that. You never were that. It was forced upon you…_

But can you ever really do something against your will? People like to think that, that they can be made to do things in certain circumstances, but there's always a choice. I had the choice to say no. To be eliminated.

But can you ever really vote no against living?

"You heard him address me as the obsolete Architect. There were four of us. Janine, Mandy, Anya, and I. We had all risen through the ranks, casted to become the trifecta—the executors—of the Project's revolution, plus a fourth, a failsafe soldier. We were the only ones to have titles. Everybody else was a number or a code name in a unit. Genesis, Armageddon, and the Architect." I took another deep breath.

"My job was to categorize…everyone. All the people of the world. Starting with the trial ground. I would decide who was worth the conversion. Those deemed otherwise were sorted into classes. Some would be eliminated." I paused. "I did that. Armageddon was to handle demolition. Genesis." Another pause. "Oh, Genesis. Genesis would make the conversions. Something about her…some power she was given. It does completely impossible things. I can't begin to explain it. But she can manipulate nanomachines, metals, organic matter. She has the ability to convert a city a day."

I swallowed, hard. "I don't know how the dynamic's changed. Three of us originals have clearly been replaced."

"A city a day?" Tony said. "That's impressive and all, but really ineffective considering all the cities in the world."

"She's been upgraded since then. I don't know what she's capable of, now. Maybe they've decided to expand, give us armies to command that are upgraded similarly." I replied absently.

"'Us'?" Steve asked bluntly.

I blushed. "Them. Them." I shook my head. "Sorry. It's a lot to process."

"They said they were going to give you the chance to once more walk in their ranks." Thor said, not unkindly. "Is it wise for us to allow you to fight alongside us when you have such a…confusing…conflict of interests?"

I felt embarrassed that he would question my loyalty. Embarrassed even more that it might be a valid question.

"I would never voluntarily go back to them." I wanted to assure him, but there was too much steel and vinegar in my voice to be any serve as any form of reassurance. It was more of a creed.

"We'll help you with that." Clint promised.

"I will put all of my ability into preserving your free will." Thor agreed.

"I think we can all agree that this organization and its members will have your back, Saintclair." Fury said solidly. "Now that everyone's had a crash course on what we're dealing with, feel free to go about your lives. Stay close to home. If you'd like, I encourage you all to call up the people you care about and have them stay here for awhile."

There'd been a file and a clause on all that, too. Fury had sent me the files on the 'honorary Avengers': Thor's Jane and Tony's Pepper. I hadn't seen them around the office yet, but from what I'd read they were here almost as often as the Avengers themselves and had helped save the world more than once or twice.

"Saintclair." I turned back to look at Fury. It seemed he liked to corner me when everyone else was splitting up.

"I'd like you to have a chat with our newest bio converted residents when you feel up to it."

I nodded solemnly. "I'll let you know when that is."

"See if you can reach them."

"If there's anything left of them in there, I will find it."

In the coming days, a lot of things surfaced. Pepper and Jane came to stay at the headquarters. I spent most of my time between Tony and Bruce. I was on good terms with the vast majority of the team, but I was definitely closest to those two. I suppose it's because I'm enough of an experiment to align with Bruce and enough of a sassy piece of metal to align with Tony. I was the perfect science experiment for them to marvel over; I talked back.

Another thing.

I was apparently now the ward of Steve. And it wasn't particularly benevolent either. It was clear that our talk hadn't resolved the grudging obligation he felt for my safety. He wasn't stalking me and grumbling about or anything, but whenever we happened to be in the same place at the same time, he was in complete hover mode. And he went out of his way to do things for me, like open doors.

I finally called him out on it.

"Come on, Comrade." I said, beckoning him away from the lobby.

"What? Don't call me that." He said crossly.

"Fine. Only if you stop babying me."

His eyes narrowed. "Babying?"

"Don't even. You have been completely acting like a mother hen since I took that hit for you. An angry mother hen."

"I have not."

"You have _so_! Even the guys have been asking about it. And you obviously haven't been enjoying it. So we might as well make something out of it and get to know each other, because I am not about to turn a blind eye and get drowned in the puddle of your wounded ego."

"You are positively…_difficult._ Did you know that?" Steve asked through clenched teeth.

"And you are infuriatingly civil. See? We're learning new things. Grand." I turned on my heel and continued walking down the hall. "Come on, then. We're going on an adventure."

"Where to?" I supposed curiosity got the better of him. Good thing he wasn't a cat.

"I've got a date with a bunch of converts."


	9. Party Games

**A/N: Hey everyone c: ~! Here's a little chapter to help introduce Lane to the 'Honorary Avengers' and attempt to sort out Steve. **

**Coming soon to a fanfiction near you: a slumber party, another fight, and a horrible twist with a ninety percent chance of uber-fluff and angst. C: **

Fury was keeping the Projectbots in a containment cell downstairs. I'd be worried that they were so close, but it was a cell that was designed with Bruce in mind. That meant so many layers of concrete and all sorts of metals I couldn't even pronounce that I was certain it would take long enough for an escape attempt to even be plausible that we'd catch them in the act.

I'd called Fury in earlier that day so he warned the caretakers ahead of time. They let me in without question but paused for Steve.

"He's here for moral support." I explained.

They dialed up Fury anyways, but he let it pass.

"Why does he want you to be the only one down here?" Steve asked as we walked through the foray to the cell.

"I don't know. I'm sure it's far from a trust thing, if that's what you're wondering." I thought. "It might be because he doesn't know fully what they're capable of, how they'll respond. I'm one of them, more or less. Maybe that gives me an advantage."

"Maybe."

We sat in silence for a few seconds, just looking through the glass. The Projectbots weren't moving. Weren't talking. They just sat in a circle, staring at the walls of their prison. They didn't look tired or bothered or anxious. They were just…there.

"Aren't we going in?" Steve finally asked.

"Not yet. I want to observe them a little bit. They don't seem to be doing much at all, but I ought to scope out the situation before I dive right in." I leaned against the glass, knowing it was one-way. "So give me the 4-1-1, Captain Mysterious."

"4-1-1?"

"Tell me about yourself, kid."

"You realize I'm technically about seven decades old, right?"

"So not the point. Tell me."

"What do you want to know?"

"I don't know. I didn't prepare an interview." I said, smiling and recalling Clint's words when we first talked. "What did you want to be before all…_this_…happened?" I gestured up and down at his supersoldier-y self.

"I was going to be an illustrator, actually. But I gave it up for the war. For this."

I perked up a little bit. "Ahhh, see? We're not so different."

"Right. You were an art student." He actually seemed interested now. Less a piece of line art and more a fleshed out design.

"I was." I nodded. "Do you still draw?"

"Not like I used to." He said simply. It felt sad somehow, though. I mean, trading one passion to fuel your passion for service is honourable and all. But it was obvious he missed something, some part of what had made him, him.

"Me neither. I still watercolour and sketch a lot. But I lost something when I was drafted into the Project." It had been hard for me to admit it to myself during my rehabilitation. At my request, Fury had provided brushes and paints and copics and all sorts of papers and canvases. I didn't understand why it was so hard to make the concepts in my head transfer onto the paper. My mind held these expansive, intricate pictures and ideas, but when they came out, they were paler versions, like ghosts of the things I'd dreamed.

I didn't take it so well.

"Are you happy?"

"What?" Steve looked at me like he didn't understand the question.

"Are you happy? With this," –I pointed at him—"And being here and being alive and everything."

"I don't regret volunteering for the supersoldier project, if that's what you're asking." He paused. "I'm…okay with everything. Given the circumstances, I'm happy. I like everyone here."

"Even Tony?"

"Even Tony. But don't tell him I said that, or he'll be entirely too pleased."

I made a little 'x' over my heart.

"I miss it." He confessed. "All the time. My time. I miss the people, and how society was—it wasn't perfect by any means, but it was home. I miss the dancing. The spirit. I hear people today say there wasn't ever a Holocaust, saying bad things about presidents long dead." He was quiet for a moment, and I barely dared to breathe. This was the realest Steve had been with me since, well, ever.

I respected that.

"There's a lot of tarnish on things these days." I agreed. "But the silver's still underneath."

He looked like he was about to respond, but then his face grew restrained.

"Are you ready to talk to the militants?"

I paused. I realized I was disappointed. I don't know when it had begun, but at some point in Steve's obnoxious scolding and even more obnoxious shadowing, I had grown the desire to have him consider me an equal. We'd made progress, but there was still a row of barbed wire and tension between us.

"Yeah. I need to have something to tell Fury at the end of the day." I pressed on the door to the containment cell and a guarding agent buzzed me in. I turned slightly. "Stay behind."

Maybe it was rude to order him around, but considering I hadn't punched him out the second he started acting like I was a fragile, orphaned kitten, I felt I deserved a gold star either way.

I took a deep breath as I walked right up to the circle of Projectbots.

"Hello." I said. I really didn't know how to strike up a conversation with a bunch of emotionally compromised bio converts. We were hardly going to talk about the weather and last night's episode of CSI.

They seemed to think the same, since not one of them responded.

"Oookay, then. Not going to be as easy as I'd hoped." I decided to single one out, the one with the most parallels to myself. The field nurse. "Tell me. What's your name?"

She surprised me by responding. "Authorization invalidated."

"I know that. But if the Third Engineer is willing to give me audience, I'm sure you can follow suit. It's polite."

"Authorization invalidated."

I didn't know how to reach her. She was obviously human. I wasn't about to treat her like a robot. That would only put me on the same level as the Third, and make me a hypocrite since I was just as much machine as she was.

"You heard what he said, nurse. I'm obsolete. But he's offered me the chance to change that. I could be the Architect again. Do you understand that? I could be spearheading the Revolution, and you're standing in my way."

"You are a defect."

"That's not a very nice thing to say." I replied after a beat of shocked silence. I fully expected this to be a wasted session. I didn't expect it to hurt.

"Being nice is not my primary objective."

"Listen to _you._" I murmured, leaning closer. It wasn't a risk since she was very well bound and her projection hand was gloved. "You've got _sass._ You're not so far gone at all, are you?" I looked around at the other Projectbots, who were listening in discreetly. "You're just very…_focused._"

"The Engineers designed us better than your generation, reject Architect. In combat, we lose all sense of sentimental response."

"And what about now?" I asked with a curious expression. It was positively…mesmerizing, what these people had become. "You can't be _happy _about what you've become."

"Some of us joined up of our own free will." She paused. "I did not. But I am past it. This is who I am now."

"Tell me. Is there any way to save you? I don't expect you to tell me how. Just…tell me. Is there any way to undo what they've done?"

"There is. The Engineers are thoughtful designers. They wouldn't build something without an off and on switch. You know that."

I felt the back of my neck involuntarily. "I suppose I do." There was a thick rope of hope pulling at my heart, tearing up the corners of my mind with renewed purpose. I felt like I held the universe in my pocket.

"What will happen to your people if they succeed?"

"The Project has promised us all freedom. We will have the option to join their maintenance army, or integrate with the human race."

"What's your name?" I asked suddenly. I don't know why it felt so important.

"My name?"

"Yes."

"My name…it's Candice." She looked a tiny surprised at herself. I guess no one had bothered for her name in awhile.

"You and your team. Are you personal with each other off duty?"

"We train off duty."

"That's it? You fight and you train?"

"We study as well. People. Places. Each of us is designated to a country and one of the four."

"The four?"

"You were once one of the four."

"How many of you are there?" My voice was a coarse whisper. I was afraid of the answer.

"Enough to conquest this planet in a month or less."

The air in my lungs turned to snow while my blood ran livid with flame. I was equal parts horrified at the progress of the Project and furious at how many people the Engineers had ruined. So many lives lost and twisted and burned…

"Why are you telling me all of this?" I asked. I had expected all of the Projectbots to sit there like empty shell casings. This field nurse was giving me the behind-the-scenes tour of the Project.

"Because I will keep the silence."

I don't know how she did it, but suddenly she was coming at me. Apparently Fury's security was about as effective as a guard hamster. I pedaled back as quickly as I could, ripping my glove off with my teeth and throwing together a projection.

She threw all she had into it. I felt the tips of her projection scratch at my face, leaving thin rivulets of blood.

The door slammed open as she pressed me up against the glass.

"You forget who you're dealing with." I murmured lethally. I vaguely heard—as if breaking glass under six feet of curtains—Steve running across the cell toward us.

"I am dealing with a broken toy."

"Are you, now?" I asked, smiling bitterly. I battered her back, using a projection of a gauntlet. I kicked her to the ground, dodging her projection of a whip as she tried to trip me up. I drove a blade projection into her arm, causing her to grimace and sputter. I stepped on her arm so she couldn't use her projections against me. "I feel top of the line, actually."

"Lane." Steve shouted.

"Help me." I risked glancing in his direction. "Pin her down."

He rushed over, pulling the Projectbot into a standing position while holding her arms behind her back.

"We could really use someone with a tranq gun in here!" He shouted.

A couple of men in suits ran in soon after, toting large black guns.

"Tranq darts are ineffective." One replied, looking harried.

"Please move aside." The other instructed.

Doubtfully, Steve let the young woman go and we both stepped out of the way. She tried to charge them, but they were too quick. They shot her twice in the chest and she fell over. The only noise in the room was our hard breathing.

The smell of smoke burned my eyelashes.

"We have to use regular bullets." The first shooter said apologetically. "Sends them in an immediate regeneration cycle."

I couldn't take my eyes off the limp form.

"Lane." I shook my head as Steve pulled on my arm. "You okay?"

I knelt next to the girl. I was probably shaking, but it didn't matter. The cold of the fight was gone from my limbs, and I felt too hot. Feverish.

"I'll save you, Candice." I promised the sleeping form. I got up and walked away from the agents.

"Tell Fury I'll report to him later. I need to get out of here." I didn't rush, but there was a slick purpose in my stride. I was a burning gear.

"Lane!" Steve matched my pace. "What happened back there?"

"Look." I said without stopping. "I can't do this right now. I really can't. I've got to be alone."

He had the wisdom not to pursue me.

But I didn't want to be alone. Not really. I ended up in the kitchen upstairs, a wide room full of appliances and coffee smells and warm furniture. I set tea to brew, and as the steam rose the tears fell.

"Tough day on the job?"

I hastily wiped away at the droplets before I turned to see Tony's girl holding a mug.

"Pepper Potts." She said, smiling a little smile.

"Lane Saintclair."

"Tony's told me a lot about you." She crossed over, pouring herself a cup of coffee out of the half-empty pot. "I figure things are a bit confusing with all these cliffhangers being thrown at you left and right."

"You know about the Alliance?" It was funny how Pepper had been here for three days and I hadn't run into her once. She always seemed to be on the go. Then again, she was handling a business. Tony had tried to introduce us multiple times before, but I was always slipping out of the tower to get away from everything for awhile.

"Yeah. Fury briefed me and Jane when we came over. He knows we'll keep our mouths shut." She gestured to the table. "Sit with me?"

I obliged, still trying to suck back in the crying in huffy little breaths.

"You don't seem like a natural crier. Must've been pretty bad, huh?"

"Did Fury brief you about me?"

"No, but like I said, Tony told me a lot about you. He's very proud of you, you know. You must be something pretty wonderful for him to have latched on so quick." Pepper didn't sound jealous at all. In fact, she sounded kind of intrigued. "So what happened?"

"I got in a fight with one of the Project soldiers."

"I'm sure you've been in loads of fights. What made this one so special?"

"I don't know. It just…got to me. I feel so bad for the girl one second, and then the next we're fighting and I just…lost it. I lost myself. If Steve hadn't been there, she would've been in a lot worse shape than she is now." I never opened up like this to people. But maybe it had something to do with how I was half puzzling it out for myself, and how her face was just so warm and reasonable. I didn't fear her judgment.

"Well, that's how you were brought up, wasn't it? Not by your parents, obviously, but by the people who raised you to be a general. You were never supposed to feel in battle. The way you feel right now is just evidence that you've proved them wrong about you, Lane."

I looked at her with wide eyes. Things I wanted to believe sounded so much better on other peoples' tongues. It made them less wishful thinking and more…solid.

"You think?"

"Sure. I'd talk to someone on the team about it, though. Sometimes you just need to hold back and let someone be your Clark Kent, you know?"

"I've been here for a week now. I don't want to spring any of this on any of them yet. I shouldn't even be talking to you about it."

"You've been pushed and pulled for a long time now, Lane. Do what you want to." She said, not unkindly. I think she knew I would take her advice no matter how uneasy it made me.

"I'll think about it." I said noncommittally. I got up, dumping out the last half of my cup of tea. "I better go. I've got to talk to Fury, and I kind of left Steve in a bad way."

"It was nice talking to you, Lane."

"You, too." I paused. "Really." I gave her a wane smile. "If I were you, I don't think I'd have the strength to get tangled in my mess. I would have taken my coffee to go."

"We're a family here, Lane. Maybe me and Jane are more extended family than immediate, but we're here for you just as much as the team." Pepper said firmly. "We're having a girl's night in Natasha's room. I know she was going to ask you herself, but she can handle me beating her to the punch. Wine and entertainment at the expense of the guys, mostly. Interested?"

I smiled.

"Wouldn't miss it."


	10. Flight of the Mockingbird

**A/N: So this took forever and a day to update. Lo siento. I've been busy with camp and getting summer work done. Anyhoo. The next installation of Lane's misadventures :D Thank you for your continued support in following and reviewing ~!**

**Coming soon to a fanfiction near you: one more chapter until some very unfortunate events happen to the team ! (Broken tooth ? Kidnapping ? Stepped in gum? Doublecrossing? Epic showdown with a favourite childhood character? Hmmm it might be any—or all!—of those )**

"…And then he started singing 'hail the queen'." Pepper finished with a sip of wine.

Natasha laughed while Jane struggled with her own sip of wine, sputtering as she tried to reign in giggles. I was glad that I knew Tony enough to come by my amusement honestly.

For the past few hours, we'd traded stories, on their end they were mostly about the boys, on mine, my life before the Project. I chose the ones I told carefully. Maybe I wanted to prove my life was normal and full of humour, that it was the Project that brought any shade of darkness into it.

"So what's the deal with you and Steve?" Natasha asked suddenly.

Pepper and Jane turned to me curiously as my face became an ambivalent caricature.

I'd skated on thick ice up until now.

"What do you mean?" I asked. I wasn't playing coy. But the way she said it, I didn't have any idea what direction she was driving in. And it was a pretty distinct road with two forks. The wrong assumption would take me over a cliff from zero to sixty.

"I mean, he's been playing not so secret agent with you for the past couple of days. I tried to ask him about it, but he deflected."

"Oh. Well. He just feels all obligated to be my bodyguard or something, since I intervened during the fight."

"That seems very old-fashioned." Jane said. "Which makes sense, given, you know. But really? Don't you all take damage for each other at some point?"

"We do." Natasha agreed. "But sometimes it hits a lot closer to the heart than simply helping each other out. A lot of lines get blurred on the battlefield."

"Poor girl." Pepper said. "Week one, and you're already smack in the middle of team drama. That could be a good thing. Baptism by fire?"

"It feels about as good as the real thing would." I shook my head. "But you're right."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"Um. I don't know. So far I've told him exactly what I think of it. And I'm taking it as an opportunity to get to know him better." I turned to Natasha. "How long do you think it'll last?"

"Knowing Steve? He sets his mind to things. It's a cardinal truth of that man." Natasha smiled. "I'm sure some time will either help him build that bridge over what happened, or you'll beat some sense to him."

"I might." I said seriously, shaking my head again. "It might be good if he takes it personally, too."

"I'd be flattered for now." Jane said. "Steve's a fairly unassuming guy. He's warm, but he keeps to his own, too, you know? It might help you in the long run that he's thrown himself into this."

"No one to blame but himself if he gets swept up in your future drama, then, eh?" Pepper said.

I smiled slightly. "We'll just wait and see."

The rest of the night was filled with light talk. We became seriously concerned about being deprived of oxygen as we laughed at Jane's impression of Thor. We told secrets and spoke about things that truly mattered to us, but nothing that dug so deep it hurt. I think we all wanted to have the night off to focus on good things, pretty things. Our lives were full enough of uncertainty and danger on their own. We had to shoo the boys out more than once—Tony and then Thor—but overall they were pretty respectful of the solidarity of Girls' Night. We painted our nails even.

Sunshine yellow.

I hadn't done that in years.

Unfortunately, we all had to get up relatively early in the morning. Which I was the littlest fan of. Pepper had to go run Tony's enterprise, Jane had to head back to the lab, and Natasha and I had an early meeting with the rest of the team. We barely had time to down some waffles and caffeine before Fury called us down.

"I'm glad you joined us last night." Natasha said.

"Me, too." I said sincerely. Sometime in the night, I'd forged a bond with all of them. It was still weighted down with my hesitance and the still-raw feeling of meeting everyone, but I was on a speeding train to feeling truly comfortable here. I would have never believed it if I wasn't living it out.

The boys were still soldered to their own sources of caffeine when we made it to the conference room.

"Good morning, ladies." Fury nodded at us, his expression about as warm as he could manage. He still had a grim edge about him, and I bet my report combined with the reality of the incident with the Projectbot—Candice, I corrected myself—had a good shot at causing it. The whole room felt like completely cloudy with a ninety percent chance of hellfire.

"Director." I nodded respectfully. Now was not the time to antagonize him.

He began to speak as soon as we took our seats.

"I regret to inform you all that the insurgents we held in containment were unable to be saved."

There was an uncertain silence.

"What?" Tony asked. There was something like the grave in his voice, like he knew he was asking a redundant question.

"Around one o' clock this morning, the detainees…terminated themselves."

"All of them? Together?" Bruce's eyebrows were drawn. It was more than a professional interest.

"The leader gave the order." Fury sighed, but I couldn't decipher the emotion tucked inside it. "The agents on duty were unable to stop them."

"They committed suicide." Natasha murmured, somber.

"Like prisoners of war." Steve shook his head.

I looked down at my bright nails and felt sick. When had we done that? It was late. Or, so late it was early. My insides tied themselves in sailor knots at the thought of painting my nails as five people killed themselves.

And then I was angry.

"Homicide."

"What?" Thor, who was on my other side, asked. They all looked at me. Always staring.

"It wasn't suicide, it was homicide." I met Fury's eyes. "The Engineers are serial killers."

"…That may be so, but it doesn't change the facts of the matter."

"The facts of the matter are that there five people dead who didn't have to be. No matter who they were when they died, those used to be five people with five lives and five families who don't even know to grieve them." I clenched my fingers together because I felt all that frost driven violence building up in me.

"They'll make it home if they've got one." Fury promised. "Right now we have a team looking into their real identities, and we're creating an…alternate…story for their demise."

"How the hell are you going to explain all the metal?" I asked, zeroing in on the first hole in his plan.

He gave me another loaded, shielded look.

"Oh my God." My lips fell apart in disbelief. "You're not. You're going to burn them. All of them. And then what? Keep the spare parts for 'further examination'?"

"We can't let any degree of knowledge about this new technology leak into the common world, Saintclair."

"And that's our priority. Really? What does it matter if the public knows? They know about half the people you fight, anyways. They know your identities. They know there are aliens, for God's sake. And this is what matters most to you. Using more deaths as a science experiment." I hesitated, then stood up. "This isn't what I signed up for. Good luck winning that first place ribbon. But it's not happening with me."

"Saintclair." Fury said sharply.

"Lane!" Natasha.

The rest was a chorus, saying just my name and things like 'don't go', 'it's not worth it', 'you could make a difference here', 'don't throw this away'.

And it hurt. Physically, because my nails dug into my skin. Emotionally, because I was starting to really find myself here.

But what kind of person was I really if I stayed somewhere where everything was made out of obligation and iron?

The thing was, the Engineers were inherently heartless. By nature, they could ignore the suffering of others and make every tactical move with light hearts and minds at the end of the night. But SHIELD. Fury. They had a choice.

And they were choosing wrong.

I didn't really think too hard about where I was going, what I was doing. I just walked to my room, threw things in a bag—the important things, the ones I had before the Project—and walked out the door. I was half expecting someone to chase me, but then I figured they probably thought I just needed time to cool down. That was a bit unhinging. As if I wasn't as serious as an airstrike.

I ended up at a café somewhere downtown. It was fairly small, and it smelled like espresso shots and rain. I ordered a cup of tea, but I should have asked for a distraction instead. As it was, I spun the spoon around in the amber liquid, watching sugar dissolve and thinking about what I had just done. Where I was going next.

I didn't need the Avengers to be a hero.

I was just finishing my third cup of tea and second pastry when I looked towards the jingling doorway and saw Bruce head my way. My eyes narrowed. Yes, I was being a complete whiny preteen. I wanted them to realize I was through, to leave me alone, but some part of me also wanted to be chased. To be valued.

I hated it.

But I wasn't going to take it out on Bruce.

"Hey Lane." He said simply as he drew back the chair across from me.

"Bruce."

"So that was a dramatic turn of events."

"How did you find me?"

"I argued against it, but it turns out there's a sort of tracking device in your program."

"Of course there is." I glowered. It felt violating, really.

"They meant well. Everyone's quite worried about you, you know."

I scoffed. "They've known me for a week. And I promise you, the people in charge are not part of that 'everyone'."

"They are, believe it or not. Or at least, the director is. He may have double motives, but it doesn't make his concern any less genuine. Even I can see the backstory between you two. And as for the team, well, that's just it. We're a team, Lane. And we've counted you into our ranks. Right now you're a heart murmur. We're all on a different beat." He said, playing with the handle of one of my tea cups absently.

"I can't be part of something that has its heart misplaced." I glanced down at my empty cup. "What does that mean for any of us? Especially me. When I become useless, if I die, what am I then? An opportunity to root through my…circuitry."

"That won't happen. And what the director said in there, that won't either. Not like that."

"Well, not one of you did much to say otherwise, did you?"

"You hardly gave us a chance." Bruce gave me an ironic look. "We know how the director works. What you said probably had more of an effect on him than he'd ever show. But if we all approach it calmly, work on him…we all knew we could talk him out of allowing the burial to go down that way. You're going to have to accept that this is turning into a war, Lane. If we've got enemy technology on our hands, it wouldn't be very wise to send it out on a funeral pyre."

"Don't talk to me like I don't know what this is." I pushed the cup away. "I was a general in this war long before you knew it was even going on." I paused. "And I've learned well enough that it's the stands like these that matter most."

"Then tell the director that. Don't just walk out on us all the second our interests conflict."

I looked at him, shocked. There was nothing censuring or accusing in his voice. The neutral, blunt honesty was so much worse.

"Besides," he continued, "I'm sure we can negotiate on all the science parts. If the director lets Tony and I head that examination, we'll proceed with the utmost respect and care. You can be there to hold us accountable, if you'd like."

"Stop being so reasonable, Bruce. You make me feel childish."

"No. You weren't being childish. You were being passionate." He tapped my hand once. "Next time, just give us some time to discuss things before you decide we're not worth the wait."

I still felt anger in my core. It was quickly turning into a ghost, especially since regret was chasing it to the grave.

"They'll all think I'm petty." I said. I knew I was in complete pity party mode, but I really didn't want to drag myself back there after this. My grand stand that had lasted four hours.

"You honestly think you're the first to have stormed out like this?" Bruce shook his head, smiling slightly. "We've got a tally running. Guess who's at the top?"

"…Thor?" I asked. "Not that he seems like a quitter or anything. But I'm sure he has a whole Asgardian temper going on."

"Wrong. It's Steve."

"_Steve?_" My eyes widened. "He's practically married to this job!"

"I wouldn't say that. But he does have a hardcore set of principles. It'd take more than the human mind could even comprehend to make him go against them. Still. He's very opinionated, and whenever operations or tactics go very forcibly against his grain, he has to take off for awhile."

I shook my head. When I thought about it, it wasn't particularly surprising. Steve was read into as a "fairly unassuming guy", a 'nice guy', but I could definitely see a proud, obstinate side of him as well.

"I've taken off a few times myself." Bruce confessed. "The bottom of the list is Natasha."

"Why do you think that is?"

"This is her life. She and Clint especially understand sacrificing themselves to shades of gray to get the job done. They're subscribers to the 'greater good'."

"And what about you?"

"I subscribe to what my gut tells me. Obviously, there are times when my morals will be challenged and I'll be uncomfortable with the turnout, but that's what this is for us. A series of actions that could one day decide the fate of the world."

Bruce took one look at the table and then back at me.

"Are you ready to go?"

"As ready as I'm gonna be."

I put a tip on the table. And as I followed Bruce out the door, some of the tightness in my muscles relaxed.

I think we both passed some kind of test.

When we got back to SHIELD headquarters, everyone gave me some space. I wasn't an exile or anything. I felt like I was a flight risk, a kid who did their best to run away but didn't make it very far.

"Glad to see you changed your mind." Clint said, bumping my shoulder in solidarity.

"It's the return of the drama queen! Aragorn would be so proud." Tony said, snarky, but his smile was pure.

"We'll talk later." Natasha promised.

Thor even embraced me.

Steve kept his distance.

I wonder if he was disappointed in me.

By the time Fury got through with me, it was apparent that hell hath no fury like Fury scorned. But it was also apparent that there was an obligation between us, one that he wouldn't break if I didn't.

"Go do something productive with yourself." He finished. "We'll have another team conference as soon as we have an update on the recovery operation."

I nodded and left. Honestly, I don't like confrontation with that man. Sure, I love to rile him up and pepper his life with disagreeable comments, but I try to avoid real conflict.

Because I know better than most that beneath his scary outside is a compassionate core. But between that scary outside and compassionate core, is something of epic tales. The kind that make you sleep with a rosary.

I was walking down the hall, buried in thought, when I nearly bumped into Tony. He had a huge smile on his face. I'd learned it was hit or miss whether that meant something absolutely fantastic or completely terrifying.

"Just the friendly neighborhood cyborg I was looking for, GLaDOS."

"I thought we established that you were going to experience unhealthy amounts of pain if you ever called me that." I narrowed my eyes at him. 'Cyborg' was offensive enough on its own. But 'GLaDOS?' She was just petty and sarcastic. And a little unhinged. I thought about that for a second, and my frown deepened.

"I must have tuned out that briefing. Anyways. Guess what?"

"…What?"

"When Bruce and I were tinkering with your tracking signature, we stumbled upon a key point in the structure of your programming."

"And?"

"We think we might have found a way to deconstruct it."


	11. Red, White, and Blue Wires

**A/N: Sorry it's been forever and a couple days, everyone ~! My life has been a rubix cube of school and athletics and performing arts and side projects, oh my ! But I'll do my best to update much more frequently . You're stuck with a relatively short chapter, but it's necessary for plot development .**

**Much love ! C:**

"So what's this big idea Tony's fangirling about?" I asked neutrally as I stood across from my two scientifically inclined…friends. Wow. I had friends. I realized fully for the first time since I'd joined the team.

I hadn't had friends for four years.

The revelation was both incredibly sad and incredibly relieving, now that I felt the closing of a wound I hadn't ever really consciously known I'd had.

The boys, unaware of my inner epiphany, were looking at me excitedly. Bruce's was much more muted, but his eyes shone unmistakably and the little quirk at the corner of his mouth gave him away. Tony, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with self-pride and the thrill of a new discovery.

"We were investigating your data file—the literal data one, the hardware and software type, not the paperwork type—and we reactivated your tracking application." Tony said before Bruce could open his mouth.

"Key word 'reactivated'." Bruce emphasized, cutting in. "Meaning Fury respected your privacy enough to have it shut off until he truly needed to know where you were and what you were doing."

"Brownie points." I nodded my head seriously before motioning for them to continue. I understood it was important to Bruce for me to see all the good intent Fury had for me.

" Anyways, when we reactivated the SHIELD track, we found it was really a latch-on program, that barely scratched the surface of the Project's tracking hardware." Tony said. This wasn't news to me—Fury had asked me to sign a consent form to authorize the procedure that implanted SHIELD's device. It was a security measure during my rehabilitation.

Tony's face suddenly became inexplicably somber. The gravity of his expression, eyes pulling on mine, made my muscles tense. This couldn't be any sort of good finding. "Which, oh by the way, there's a bit of bad news as well. The Project's tracker is more of a combination of hardware _and _software. Except the software isn't only inside the hardware. Apparently whatever your hand is made out of, it's able to be integrated with software. It's a semi-organic conductor."

"So the Project's not only implanted in me, it's a physical _part _of me." I said numbly. I gripped the nearest counter, hard, and took a breath to let that settle in.

"Yes." Bruce agreed, strangely calm. Like he was hoping if he kept his composure, it would catch to me like a virus.

Too bad I already have one infiltrating me.

"This means the Project will always have this trace. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they haven't monitored since the day you were extracted." Bruce said.

I flexed my metal hand absently, thinking back through the months after my rescue, the days leading up to the latest confrontation.

"Well, the Third certainly didn't seem too surprised that I'd been alive this whole time." I paused. "Can you get to the part where this is actually exciting? Because so far it's just made me feel all sorts of violent and spine-tingly."

"Right." Tony nodded. "While we can't actively eradicate the software or even the hardware, without completely obliterating that section of your spine, we think we can deconstruct it on a sonic level."

"A sonic level? As in, an electromagnetic waves type deal?"

"Exactly." Tony nodded again, getting excited again. "We still have to experiment with it a bit, but we believe we can administer a counter-wave to block out the Project's tracking initiative."

"Can this be applied to the whole program?" My breath caught. Hope was rising again within me, but I knew it was a poisonous snake. It was well enough to encourage it, stroke it along in my mind, but the second I tempted it with any real conviction, it would strike me in every place I'd fought so hard to protect.

"That, we just don't know." Bruce said. "I'm sorry, Lane. I just…we're running along with what we just found out, but I don't want to lead you on, you know? We haven't unraveled all the secrets to the Engineers' work by any means."

"I understand." My voice was just a bit brittle from me reigning in all the emotions barraging around inside.

"Believe us. We're trying our best."

"I know."

"We're going to need you to bear with us a bit, to run tests and hopefully complete the eventual procedure."

"Whatever you need." I sighed. "Thanks. Sorry. I feel like I totally downgraded your discovery. I really do get it. This is leaps and bounds. And I'm grateful."

Tony groaned. Then he shook his head and walked over to me, gathering me in a brief embrace. He shook his head, stepping away distastefully.

"We know. Now stop sulking about like the Little Engine that Can't. I get enough of that from Bruce."

"Fine. When do you need me for this trial run?"

"If you've got the time, I'd like to run a few preliminary tests right now." Bruce said. "Most of the information we need is already in your medical file, but things have changed recently."

The tests weren't so bad. Mostly it felt like any other doctor's appointment I'd ever been to. Height. Weight. Bone mass. My whole life story in my genetics. The only real difference was when they got to my metal hand and they tested my regeneration cycle. It was a lot more comfortable than it was back in the day with SHIELD. Back then, those doctors were more like glorified babysitters. I'd gotten relatively close to a few of them, but there was never any question that I was a patient at best—project at worst—and they were the employed.

"Go do something productive with yourself." Tony said, unceremoniously gesturing to the door when the last test was done. I would have had my say about that, but he was clearly wading through the new information, already on the hunt for anything that could help them develop an anti-Project program. That was more important than my indignation.

I showed myself out, wishing I could rush forward in time to when they got it right—because I had no doubts that they would—and I could be malware-free in no time.

Of course it was my luck that instead, I ran into Steve.

"Hey there, Comrade." I said awkwardly.

He gave me a neutral, reserved look. "Lane."

We stood in a very decidedly uncomfortable silence for a few seconds more before he made a move to leave.

"Two steps back then, eh?" I said to his back.

He stiffened. "What?" He asked, with a solid glance.

"One step forward and two steps back." I gestured between him and I. "For a second there, I thought maybe you'd get over the whole combat snafu and your whole falling-on-the-sword motif. And maybe we'd be friends. Or at least upgrade from total strangers."

"If you think I'm going out of my way to repay a debt, you should think that over a little more." Steve said shortly. "If anything, I'm taking one for the team and assigning myself to damage control. You're reckless."

I'd suffered quite literally countless burns, cuts, and hits. I'd entertained dismemberment more than once in my life. I'd had my skull cracked against cement easily a hundred times, maybe more. Steve's words should be a paper cut compared to all that. Except they weren't.

"'Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.' Tell me, are you a perfect man?" I asked, without intending to let him answer. "Right. Good talk, Comrade. Let's schedule a follow-up sometime soon." I walked away, and damn it all, my feet were too quick and my eyes were too bright. I was so over being the loose cannon, the science project, the weapon of mass destruction, the poster girl for a human revolution.

I really just wanted to drink some vodka, eat some lemon candy, and watch some Home and Garden network. But that wasn't really a mature reaction, so I went on my way. I had nearly successfully escaped into my room when I ran into Thor. Literally. I don't know how I didn't notice his hulking form.

"Sorry, sorry." I said, backpedaling and trying to make my way around him.

"Lane." He said gruffly, stopping me with a hand on my shoulder. "Are those tears upon your cheeks? Why are you aggrieved?"

"Oh, it's nothing, honestly. It's been a tough day, is all." I spoke the common lie, not wanting to entangle myself in any more emotional situations.

"Is there anything I can do to relieve you of some of your burden?"

I shook my head, a little sweetened just by the fact that a self-proclaimed demi-god cared as much to bother with my issues.

"Really, no. But thank you. It's kind of you."

"Very well, then." Thor didn't seem like the type to push, which worked well in my favour. "Rest assured with these words, Lane, we will avenge your people, and one day soon we will all of us be beyond this chapter of despair." He commanded earnest eye contact for a few moments and waited for my nod before he allowed me to pass.

I shook my head and collapsed on my bed the moment I made it to my room. My mind was a merry-go-round, and all my recent troubles were rising and falling in my breast and head to a convoluted rhythm.

Were Tony and Bruce going to be able to cheat my program? Was Steve ever going to ease up? Would I ever feel comfortable with the level of devotion and interdependency the team was proving to come equipped with? I didn't even know if I was built to handle all this…intimacy.

My God, I wanted to fold myself up in a nest of comforters and sweaters, and hug my mother.

But that wasn't going to happen.

Ever.

And that acceptance brought on a whole new world of unbridled angst. Eventually I just felt like such a stressed, dramatic teenager, that I snuggled down into the sheets and let myself be completely worn out.

The next thing I knew, I was being shaken awake.

"Lane."

I opened my eyes blearily. "What."

"Fury sent me to find you. You weren't answering your pager."

I leaned up on my elbows, and Natasha gave me some space.

"Oh. That. Yeah, I might need a new one of those. It's kind of done."

"Done?"

"I, ah, needed something to occupy myself with on the cab drive to that café. So I, uh, ripped into little pieces. As a therapy type thing."

"We really need to find you some hobbies." She shook her head.

She paused as I got up and stretched, and I could feel her thoughts coursing around in her head like race horses.

"How are you feeling about that, by the way?" She said finally.

"About what?"

"Walking out. Do you wish you stayed gone?"

"It was rash. I was upset. I'm sure I'll have a greater opportunity to do good here than out there, anyways." I shook my head. "I've got a lot to make up for, you know. A lot of—"

"Red on your ledger." Natasha finished. We looked at each other, reassessing. Something clicked. It wasn't pleasant, but it brought us together.

"Enough to paint the wall of China. Twice." I said finally. I began walking and she fell into step beside me.

"The Project has issued as much as a declaration of war. Its next move is anticipated within the coming days. We're playing it safe. Any plans you had in the coming weeks, cancel them. As far as I'm concerned, you don't exist outside of these walls for the next fourteen days." Fury said.

"Do you really think that's necessary?" Tony asked. "We're less than a hop, skip, and throw away if you need us anyways."

"I'm not taking any chances here, Stark. If the program has grown as we've been led to believe, it's likely that every second of shortening our response time matters. We need to nip this in the bud. Shut down their first wave and cripple them so severely, they won't think twice about sending another."

"I request asylum for Jane." Thor said. He was like gold and fire and granite, nothing soft or submissive about him at all. Jane was one lucky girl to have all that intensity reserved for her. She must be stronger than she looks, to hold her own against it.

"I've already sent for her work to be moved here. Likewise, I've requested that Pepper stay here for the time being as well." He turned the last bit of his speech onto Tony, who had opened his mouth to speak.

Fury continued to detail the procedure for the next weeks. Honestly, I drifted away from it all more than once.

"…and a short service will be held for the fallen Project soldiers before their study and public exposure commences." I was snapped back into the present by the weight of Fury's gaze. I knew it was all for me. Compromise. Bruce caught my eye and gave me a little quirk at the corner of his mouth, almost smug. _You see? _it said.

I did.

Fury soon dismissed us for our last night out on the town before mandatory lockdown. I felt like we were all kids with a curfew, or we were about to be stuck in an extended bomb drill. But that was the breaks.

"Lane." I turned to see Steve as I walked out of the conference room.

It seemed childish to walk away, so I held my ground. He would never get to know how much his condescension burned.

"Yes."

"I wanted…" He seriously struggled over his words, and I was entirely bemused. I'd never seen him work so hard. "I wanted to apologize for my words earlier. They were premature."

I shook my head. "I don't accept apologies for the truth." I turned to walk away, but he put a staying hand on my arm. It seemed like everyone on the team was holding me in place, making sure I didn't go.

"Maybe there was some ugly truth in it, but it wasn't right saying it out of anger."

"Fine. Apology accepted." We stood in the awkwardness of a Band-Aid slapped on a wound, waiting to see if the antiseptic would take hold. "I just want to know. We started on a seriously wrong foot, and I'm wondering if we're just going to be trapped in this cycle of me doing rash things and you being grudgingly valiant and one day we're just going to explode into little pieces of resentment. Because that would be kind of a buzzkill."

Steve thought for a moment. "That would be…unpleasant." He paused a moment, then raised his chin decisively. "We've got the night before lockdown begins. I'm willing to sacrifice mine, spend it with you, and get to know each other better enough that we reach an understanding. Hopefully this will eliminate our qualms with each other. For the sake of the team." I was impressed until his add-on at the end revealed his true motivations. Ah, well. We could work on getting the tin man a heart as we went.

"Careful, Comrade, your human is showing." I rolled my eyes. "But that sounds fair enough."

"What would you like to do, then?" He asked.

"Well, we're sure as hell not staying here on our last night of freedom."


	12. Outside the Lines

**A / N Ok wow so I get an award for least consistency , sorry it 's been five thousand years , dears . Life got all over the place . Sorry this chapter isn 't too thrilling ~ ! Plot advancement ;C . Next up is a lot more action and feels ~ **

We ended up going to a park. We could have gone anywhere, really, and it was hardly the most thrilling place we could have been on our last night of freedom. But it was neutral and natural and literally No Man's Land and maybe that's what we needed to figure ourselves out.

"So are we going to play twenty questions or what?" I asked, leaning against the bench laxly and breathing in sharp night air.

"Twenty questions?" Steve asked. He was sitting almost at the far end of the bench, not looking rigid, but a little starched.

"It's a guessing game."

"Oh." Steve was silent for a few moments. "You think shooting questions around in the dark will help?"

"Well, better than bullets, anyways. What do you think, Comrade?"

"Why do you keep calling me that? You're not historically ignorant." He didn't sound bothered.

"Because it's irksome and ironic and those are things I'm into." I slid a glance at him, watched his mouth compress into a thin line. "And it's verbal leverage."

"For what?"

"I don't know. I'm not a psychologist." I looked up at the tree branches bending towards us, never going to reach. "It's affectionate too, I guess." I didn't like spelling out what I was thinking, what I meant. But I figured a few hours of honesty—carefully selected honesty—and a bit of an ego sacrifice would resolve enough of the tension between us that I wouldn't feel the need to tiptoe around Steve every time we went to work on the battlefield. I didn't have the energy or temperament for that to last very long before I pirouetted off the deep end into a graceless ballet.

"How long am I going to feel the need to make sure you don't do something drastic that'll leave the team scrambling to keep up with you? Or save you." Steve sighed, still looking poised.

"That's up to you. I'm not a hero that needs saving, Steve. I'm not even a hero. If I die, I die. Sorry to break it to you, man, but you're not my blonde –haired, blue-eyed guardian angel. You're not meant to be." It's not that I didn't value my life.

Sure, it was battered and twisted and converted near beyond recognition. But it was mine. No, I just realized we weren't in a business that had potential drawbacks like a bad dental plan. Our drawbacks were the loss of loved ones. Death. And I had made peace with that. I couldn't function otherwise.

He made an angry sound in the back of his throat. "I don't have a savior complex. This isn't all about you. You're a handicap, Lane."

"Well, don't feel the need to candycoat on my behalf." I shook my head. "I'm not a novice, Steve. I'm not an art student trying her hand in combat. I've got my doctorate in bloodshed ten times over." I took a breath. "And you're your own handicap. Don't be so hung up on things I haven't even done yet. I took a hit for you once. I hardly commandeered the mission."

Steve sighed again, this time in resignation. "Maybe I jumped the gun a little bit. But I don't like your reckless streak."

"It doesn't like you." I surprised him into looking at me. I smirked. "Look, I didn't join this initiative aiming to make flower crowns and hold hands with everybody. I came here because…well, because this is my only option outside of starting my life over, living in some flat in a neighborhood nowhere close to home and trying to make a living off of art that doesn't even have half of me in it any more. What would you have chosen?"

"I would have chosen exactly the same as you. I did choose exactly the same as you." He looked at me somberly for a moment, jaw tight against some emotion, and it hit me how true that was. He'd been some kid coming into his own, amped up with Uncle Sam, torn between art and war, and then he was lost. And then he was found, and he had nothing but a new beginning with the Avengers or a new beginning without them.

He had been in the same unfortunate sailboat as me, not too long ago.

"Yeah. Yeah, you did." I sighed myself. "Okay, this is getting too heavy. Tell me something that means something to you that has nothing to do with war or battle or heroes or secret agencies."

He thought for awhile, and I appreciated that it looked like he was seriously considering his answer.

"Films."

"Films?" I raised my eyebrows. It seemed so…unlikely. Trivial. "You're living special effects."

"Movies are progressive, yes. But they're conservative, too. They come in all kinds of genres and styles. They keep the past. They reflect what this generation is thinking, striving for. A lot of them are idealistic or unrealistic or downright immoral, but so are people, and in that way, they're honest." He shook his head. "They pretend to be everything they're not but they can't help being what they are."

"Films."

"Films."

I pondered that for a bit, then came back to when Steve spoke.

"What about you?" He leaned forward, the tension finally away from his frame, ebbing away from us. "What's important to you, something that has nothing to do with metal or conversions or Engineers or secret agencies?" A very small, almost sweet smile began at the corner of his lips.

"I don't know." I pressed my lips together. That wasn't right. "Fixing things. Like cars and people and broken tvs."

"You know how to do all that?" He asked, mildly impressed.

"No, but that's the point. The point is that you don't know how but you try anyways and you find someone who does and you build things but you build each other, too." The memories came back to me slowly, braving the cold city air and the water damage left by the Project. "I'd look through newspapers, when I was trying to keep myself in school. I'd find odd jobs. I miss that I can't do that anymore."

We talked like that, for an hour more. About favourite colours and memories and things we wanted to happen and things we couldn't have.

By the time we arrived back to the tower and went to our rooms, I was sure he disliked me a lot less.

Or at least we wouldn't end up killing each other during the lock – down.

Probably.


End file.
